


Have Your Cake

by o0katiekins0o



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Past Drug Use, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-06
Updated: 2014-09-16
Packaged: 2018-02-12 00:09:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2088213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/o0katiekins0o/pseuds/o0katiekins0o
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly secretly moonlights as a singing telegram, Mycroft just figured out what he's getting Sherlock for his birthday...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. They Say It's Your Birthday

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a silly idea that was inspired by the Post Modern Jukebox cover of "Birthday" by Katy Perry. I highly recommend checking them out on YouTube, it will give you a good feel for the mood of the fic. Also, I made fan art for this story, not super sure how to share it on here right now.

It was just meant to be a lark. Her old flatmate had found a flyer auditioning performers for singing telegrams and they both sort of dared each other.

Despite her quiet, demure manner of speaking, Molly's singing voice was that of a warm dusky alto. She wasn't an experienced singer but she enjoyed it. And decided to just have fun with the audition, not taking it too seriously.

She was as flattered as she was surprised when she got a callback inviting her to perform with the group. They were a primarily jazz/blues/do-wop ensemble and her low purring voice fit in beautifully. 

The gigs were generally scheduled well enough in advance that she was easily able to work it around her schedule at Bart's and there were back up performers if she needed to cancel. It was pretty much an ideal creative outlet for her. She got to wear beautiful dresses and have her hair quaffed in a distinctively 1940's fashion that flattered her features. It was like trying on a different personality. The performer in Molly was a seductress.

Although the group was open to providing personalized performances for any occasion, people hardly go through the trouble to send out a singing telegram when affairs are dour. Depending on the occasion, clients might ask for special costumes and props. The agency was well stocked with both, including a giant cake. Molly had never performed the cake jump but every performer had to rehearse the cake routine, even the men. It didn't happen often, but occasionally, a client would book a male performer to do the cake jump and Molly wished she could be there to see it.

They were singers (and dancers), not strippers. Sometimes their costumes could be a bit racy, but they stayed on throughout the performance. She had performed at a few stag dos whose guests were not aware of the distinction. Those instances quickly taught her how to use a wink, a smile and a casual flirtation while she sang to quell rowdy party-goers. She was often approached afterward, by attendees for dates. She was gracious, but never took them up on it. It was too risky, if she dated audience members it wouldn't take long for her secret to come out. 

Depending on the client's wishes the performances could range from an A Capella song sung by a single performer, to a full band complete with back-up singers. Molly preferred the more elaborate performances, singing alone was harder. Especially around Valentine's Day when she found herself trying to navigate through maze-like cube farms to single out a specific person to sing to. With the band, props and all the theatrics she was part of a group, and there was more preparation. Those performances were usually reserved for weddings and parties. Her group had also done a few flash mobs, but she never participated in those. It was too public, too hard to keep her secret. 

As it stood, she lived in constant fear that she would slip up and he would deduce it based on something minute, like an errant fleck of glitter or forgotten crust of lash glue still clinging to her face. She showered and thoroughly scrubbed after each performance. She rarely allowed photos to be taken of her, although audience members would occasionally ask. There was one photo floating out there in the ether. She was in a group shot on the website but her name only appeared as "Molly" and it wasn't as if Sherlock was really in the habit of booking singing telegrams. It was unlikely that the photo would be what outed her. 

 

* * *

 

 

Mycroft was busy trying to act like he was _not_  about to eat the last of the biscuits he had stashed in his desk drawer as his PA, 'Anthea' strode into his office silently, placing a file folder in front of him. Background checks, in Mycroft's experience, were best when carried out with regularity. He sent out for updated information on those of whom he kept diligent surveillance. More specifically, anyone and everyone who had frequent contact with his brother.

He glanced down at the file. New information came up on Molly Hooper. She was a particularly curious figure in the life of Sherlock Holmes. He had come to respect her immensely after she assisted Sherlock with the fall and had proven herself to be a person of unusually high character. Mycroft trusted no one, but he had a sort of tentative, unspoken understanding of Molly. Mycroft often wondered how Sherlock managed to earn her trust, as Mycroft only barely had anything resembling trust for his own flesh and blood.

All this contributed to the ghost of surprise that crossed Mycroft's visage when the file was lain on his desk, containing new (as in previously unknown) information about her. The surprise mounted when he flipped open the file to find photos taken of Molly Hooper dressed very uncharacteristically holding a microphone. Was that? No it couldn't be. Was this a photo of her... _singing_? More research must be carried out on this immediately. How was it that Molly Hooper had managed to hide this little secret from him for so long?

He did his due diligence. The agency was on the up and up, not a front for drug cartels or human trafficking. It was just an agency that allowed you to humiliate your loved ones by ambushing them with an imporomtpu song. 

Oh how quaint, they even have a giant cake. Mycroft was reminded of the day Sherlock returned and joked that he would surprise John by jumping out of a cake. An amusing idea came to Mycroft. Sherlock had a birthday coming up and well, Mycroft had some calls to make.

 

* * *

 

 

Molly was in Bart's canteen chatting with Sherlock and John when her mobile rang with a call from the agency. She recognized the number on the screen, trying to prevent the blush that spread across her face. 

"Sorry, I need to take this." She told them and quickly excused herself into the hallway, far enough away she felt confident that Sherlock would not overhear.

"Yes?" She answered brusquely. The band leader and Bassist responded, "Good news, Molly, we've been booked for a large performance. Full band and back-up and you will sing lead." Molly opened up her calender app to check her availability. "When?" She asked. 

"Two weeks. The 6th. Should be enough time for you to brush up on the routine. You're finally going to get to do the cake jump!" 

Molly was hit with a wave of nerves at the thought. Seemed silly considering that just a few years ago she never thought she'd get paid to sing to people, let alone surprise people with a performance. But she found the idea of the cake jump very intimidating.

"Can't you get someone else? Can Bethany do it?" She began worrying her lip with her teeth. 

"No Molly, it's for a birthday so we're rolling out the new Katy Perry arrangement. You know Bethany won't do Katy Perry. When are you available for rehearsals?" 

Molly sighed, it was true Bethany would not do Katy Perry. When they first joined with the group Bethany confessed to an extreme distaste for Katy Perry and Molly confessed a particular distaste for Miley Cyrus. They decided that Molly would do all the Katy Perry and Bethany would do all the Miley Cyrus so they each wouldn't have to sing songs they hated.

But since "We Can't Stop" and "Wrecking Ball" came out Molly began to worry that Bethany realized she got a raw deal. She was not going to push it by asking her to do this gig.

She needed a moment to process all this (find a good enough excuse not to do it). "I have to check my work schedule. I will text you later." She hung up on him without saying goodbye.

Something she ordinarily wouldn't do, but the more she thought about the performance, the hotter she blushed and as it was she would need to face Sherlock. And even John would notice something is off with how flushed and fidgety she was getting.

She forced herself to breathe deeply and push the cake jump out of her mind to return to the canteen. When she arrived she found John and Sherlock had already left and her unfinished tray was being bussed by an employee. She sighed, "of course." and turned to the vending machines to get a bag of crisps before heading back to the lab. 

On her way, she stopped by Mike Stamford's office to check her schedule. He was his usual genial self, grinning at her and being very accomodating. She told him she was asked by some friends to work on a project and she needed to know his schedule requirements for the next two weeks. It was kind of true.

"Don't worry about it, Molly you've consistently taken holiday and night shifts and swapped with people who needed time off on short notice. Not to mention, your patience with Sherlock. We can work around whatever it is you have going on." He smiled warmly, and Molly tried to stifle her disappointment.

She had been rather relying on being able to tell Andre that Bart's couldn't possibly spare her and he'd have to somehow convince Bethany to do it instead.

"Thank you, Dr. Stamford." She said, only slightly disappointed, and she texted Andre with her availabilities on her way back to the lab.

 

* * *

 

She joined the band for rehearsal on her next open time slot. They played through the arrangement so she could get the feel for it. Once she heard it, she felt immensely more confident about the performance. 

It was a very good arrangement and she would be backed by the full band and the do-wop guys. The cake choreography was very simple. Basically just wait for the cue, jump out of the cake, a few coy moves and strategically placed winks, step out of the cake, circle the seated birthday boy with some flirty singing.

After only one run through she felt her nerves dissipate, even moreso when she caught a glimpse of the outfit she would wear for the performance.

The more unlike her own wardrobe the costume was, the more she felt like she could hide inside her performance persona. And this, satin and tulle ridiculousness was something Dr. Hooper would never wear.

She would have a few more rehearsals before the day of the performance, she knew she could have it down by then and, of course she would practice at home.

She told herself this would be fun. She would just get this cake jump out of the way and she would never fret about it again. This would be good, it would be cathartic. These performances had already been a growing experience for Molly, she stammered a lot less around Sherlock and took up for herself when coworkers tried to take advantage of her. 

Besides, she'd already done the Marilyn "Happy Birthday, Mr. President" routine about half a dozen times (it was a popular request). This wasn't much different, just more showmanship is all.

She was resolved. Not only could she do it, but she would make it the best cake jump the agency ever staged.

 

* * *

 

 It was the middle of the afternoon of Sherlock's birthday and already it was shaping up to be one of his best. 

Mrs. Hudson didn't wake him before 11 by clattering around in his kitchen making noises of disgust at the contents of his refrigerator.

When he did wake she popped in cheerfully to bring him scratch-made Belgian waffles with fresh cream, sausage and black coffee, it was an especially nice breakfast. Mrs. Hudson rarely did more than eggs and toast most mornings.

The day's news articles had been particularly non-tedious and the latest issue of The Journal of Cell Science arrived with the mail. There was a particularly fascinating study published on advances in the replication of Telomerase.

His annual birthday phone call with mummy was especially tolerable. To top it off, at this very moment he was enjoying an outing to the gun range with The Watsons.

They were all bent over a table, examining the ballistics gel dummy torso they had gotten him for his birthday. It was peppered with dozens of holes and casings from several different caliber guns and rifles.

Mary made thorough notes from the viewing window with Baby Jillian in a sling while he and John unloaded an arsenal and shot the thing to hell. He was very excited to go home and examine the data they'd gathered and cross-reference it with published data. 

But the best part, the icing on the cake if he was given to puns, was that he'd neither seen nor heard from Mycroft all day.

Ever since they were children Mycroft took particular glee in using Sherlock's birthday as an excuse to put him in uncomfortable and humiliating situations. He banished the thought of Mycroft altogether. He didn't want to jinx it, not that he believed in such things. 

Yes, this day was running a strong campaign for the title of best birthday ever.

Then his text alert chimed. Lestrade had a serious case for them and needed them right away. Lestrade texted the address of a small old theater and Sherlock's interest piqued right away.

Maybe it was very "Scooby Doo" but an old theatre was certainly the kind of place one would expect to find a ruddy good mystery. After the day he's had he was in a disposition to abide a bit of mirth. 

"Case?" John asked after a long minute of Sherlock staring at his phone and grinning like an idiot. He snapped from his reverie and nodded still grinning then remembered the ballistics dummy that they needed to get back to Baker street. 

"You can keep the dummy in my car. Maybe I can use him to drive in the HOV lanes." Mary winked. 

"Great thanks." Sherlock said dismissively as the excitment of a case occupied more and more of his brain. He was making purposeful strides to the exit when Mary stopped him. 

"Sherlock!" He stopped and she stepped toward him. "Happy birthday." And gave him affectionate peck on the cheek. He almost blushed. John handed Jillian off to Mary, kissing them both, and Joined Sherlock out onto the street and into a cab

He told the cabbie the address then they two of them rode in silence for several long moments. John watched the passing buildings outside his window.

Sherlock looked back on the pleasant day he had and began to realize that it was a carefully orchestrated string of events and not, as he'd previously assumed, pleasant incidences that happened to fall on his birthday. 

No one said a thing to him about it being his birthday all day and he'd assumed they'd forgotten which, he'd hoped they actually had. He really hated all the fuss over birthdays. Birthdays, in his experience, were just days where he was expected to pretend to enjoy things he hated.

Effort had been made to give him an especially good day without burdening him with any expectations. He felt almost touched by the gesture.

He only wished he'd heard from Molly. He thought by now she would have sent him some cutesy text wishing him a happy birthday. She did every year, he hated to think what it meant that she hadn't. He hated to think that it actually bothered him.

"Sherlock, you're doing that scary blank stare thing again." John said, interrupting Sherlock's reverie.

He snapped his eyes up to look at John. "So..." He croaked and cleared his throat "So this whole day... You did it for my birthday?" 

John pulled a face at Sherlock's ridiculous question. Of course all this was for his birthday. Sherlock really could be so spectacularly clueless sometimes. He shook his head gave a mischievous smirk to his friend, "Oh is it your birthday?" 

Sherlock looked puzzled at John for a moment before John's smile gave away that he had been joking and they both quietly chuckled for a moment. 

"Thank you, John."

"Well don't just thank me, I had help. Happy Birthday, Sherlock."

Lestrade was alone outside the theatre when they arrived, it was curious, usually forensics would have the crime scenes corded off and the coroner's van or an ambulance is usually in the vicinity.

Likely then, that he needed Sherlock's help to follow up on a lead rather than investigate an actual crime scene. Makes sense. Such a pity, he was really hoping there would be some kind of masked lunatic running around the theatre.

Catching up to Lestrade, the three of men entered the building together. "What is it? What's the case?" Sherlock eagerly asked. His day had gone so well he began to anticipate that everything would be equally delightful. 

"Honestly Sherlock, I'm not even sure what we're looking at with this one." Lestrade answered. Sherlock was practically skipping with excitement. One might say "giddy" but Sherlock would reject that deduction immediately. No, he was a professional that only happened to be having a good day. 

Lestrade lead them past the box office and pushed the main theatre doors open into a pitch black room. When the door shut behind them the light flicked on, and a group of very familiar faces shouted "Surprise!". 

Mycroft sat lounging on a chair while the others stood around him, wearing a smug look of satisfaction. "Oh Christ!" Sherlock spat through grit teeth. He made like he was going to leave but was assaulted with hugs and other displays of physical affection. 

Mrs. Hudson hugged him tightly and gave him a firm kiss on the cheek  that he just knew left lipstick smudges, Lestrade gave him a firm handshake and a rough back slap. Anderson debated internally between offering a handshake or a hug. He settled on a handshake and a meek "Happy Birthday." While Donovan only gave him a curt nod of acknowledgment.

More felicitations from Stamford and a few of the friendlier members of the Bart's staff. Sherlock surveyed the room as people broke into smaller conversations or drifted toward the catering table or open bar, courtesy of the British government, no doubt. 

Mycroft approached him. "Happy Birthday, brother mine. Having a pleasant day?" He was so disgustingly self satisfied. 

"Until recently, yes." Sherlock said grimly while scanning the room once again.

"Looking for someone?" Mycroft asked, smugly. 

"Where's Molly. Didn't you invite her?" 

"I did. She's busy, I'm afraid. I'm sure she sends her regrets." Mycroft repressed the urge to grin at his brother's obvious disappointment over her absence. 

Sherlock didn't understand. Things between them had been amicable, that is to say they hadn't fought about anything recently. He hadn't been particularly demanding or rude. He was getting frustrated over how bothered he was over such nonsense. Molly was busy, so what? It's just his birthday, it's not as if he really cared.

While he was getting himself worked up over nothing, for the second time that day, he failed to notice the jazz ensemble that had set up on stage and began warming up their instruments. 

Sherlock shot Mycroft a questioning look. "Entertainment, Sherlock." Mycroft explained. "It's usually considered a mark of a successful party." 

Sherlock rolled his eyes and went to the bar for a scotch. He planned to mill about a bit, then find a quiet corner and blend into the wallpaper.

To everyone else, Mycroft arranging this party for him was a sweet gesture of brotherly affection. Sherlock, however, knew it for what it was.

A prank.

Mycroft knew Sherlock didn't like this kind of thing. He just did it to watch him squirm. The band was quite good though. Not that jazz was a favorite of his, but it was pleasant enough as background noise. It did well enough to drown out the incessant chatter. 

 Lestrade had taken Mrs Hudson by the hand, inviting her for a dance and other couples broke off to dance along.

Mary had joined the party shortly after the announcement of "surprise" and apologized for the cloak and dagger, kissing him and wishing him Happy Birthday again.

Jillian wasn't with her, dropped off with a babysitter, of course. If Jillian had been there he could quietly bounce her on his knee in the corner without being bothered or drawn into tedious conversation. His god daughter was very useful in that way, he'd discovered. 

He liked it most when he could get her to fall asleep on his chest. It gave him license to harshly shush anyone who made a sound and no one would try to take her from him for fear of waking her. 

The trill of a piano going down scale marked the end of yet another song. Probably some Manhattan Transfer number, Sherlock was unsure, Manhattan Transfer was the only jazz band he actually knew of by name.

There was a pause between songs, much longer than the pause between any previous song and a man in a suit stepped out from behind the upright bass he'd been playing to walk toward the microphone. Someone from stage left walked center stage carrying a chair and placed it in a specific place on the floor.

The Bassist took the microphone in hand. "Hello everyone and welcome!" He spoke. "My name is Andre, I will be your Emcee for the evening." He looked up above the stage to the lighting booth. "Can we bring the house lights down?" The person behind the board complied darkening everywhere in the theatre except the stage. 

This was Sherlock's chance the lights were down, it was dark enough in the theatre for him to slip out quietly before anyone noticed. But then-

"Where _is_ the birthday boy?" The emcee called, looking out into the crowd shielding his eyes from the glaring lights above.

"Shit!" Sherlock thought, "Time to bolt!" He turned on his heels and took two long strides toward the exit before he heard a loud flick and felt the warmth of a spotlight on his back. Lestrade and John caught him by the elbows and practically dragged him to the stage where he was instructed to sit in the chair. 

"It's time to cut the cake!" Andre announced to a din of cheers and claps from the party guests. Sherlock looked around, he couldn't find a cake anywhere. He turned his head to check the buffet table which was also curiously devoid of the traditional birthday confection. His curiosity was soon sated when two stage hands pushed a giant prop cake out from behind the curtain.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BTW I have no idea whether London has HOV lanes but there ya go...


	2. I Know You Like It Sweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! The much-vaunted cake jump! I hope I made it worth the wait!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if this link will work but here is the song if you want to try and cue it up to the story: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZavLCla-Lzw&index=6&list=PL7A4D9C100657150E Also I think it goes without saying but I'll say it just in case. I, literally, own NONE of this! Not the original song, not the arrangement in the link and certainly not Sherlock and any of it's related stuff. Even writing this is my attempt to disown this thought that keeps chewing up my brain. So please enjoy! It's your brain bug now!

Molly wasn't nervous when she went to bed the night before.

She wasn't nervous when she woke up that morning.

She warmed up her voice in the steam of the shower with a few scales and ran through the song while she washed her hair, gesturing the choreography as she went, just to keep it all fresh in her mind. She played the arrangement on her iPod while she dried and dressed. She listened to it and mouthed along with the lyrics on the tube to the venue. She sang it three more times while she got into make up and wardrobe.

When her look was complete she practiced a few of the steps in front of the mirror, just to make sure it looked alright. Her shoes were a bit of a worry. They were satin hot pink platform heels with a ballet lace tied around her ankles. She had worn them around her flat to make sure she could wear them without tripping, but the real challenge will be in stepping out of cake from the top tier while wearing them. Impossible to do, if she were to try and step down like stairs she would definitely fall.

Bethany instructed her in the proper technique of exiting the cake. It required an obscene crawl/slide maneuver that was tricky in the puffy tulle skirt. Gaining purchase with her hands while she slid was also tricky in her hot pink opera-length gloves and the corset kept her back straight so she had limited mobility in her torso. But she practiced it over and over until she could do it with her eyes shut, and for the first time that day she felt better than simply "not nervous".

She was confident. She could definitely do this.

From back stage she could hear the guests shout "Surprise!"

Countdown, won't be long now. _You can do this, Hooper. You are going to rock this._ She psyched herself up as she took a few last looks in the mirror, touching up her lipstick and checking her winged eyeliner and false lashes.

She was wearing a ridiculous amount of pink. Her dress was a pink satin corset-laced bodice ending in a large tulle skirt spattered with tiny rainbow-colored sequins. Her hair was down in long waves and there was a large pink satin bow pinned to the side of her head.

The overall look gave a distinctly cupcake effect, appropriate since she was meant to be jumping out of a cake.

She spritzed on a bit of vanilla scented perfume. Not necessary, but she thought, it did add a certain flair to the experience and her goal was to be the best. She heard the band wind down on the final pre-cake number "A Nightengale Sang in Barkley Square".

Moments later was Andre's voice announcing it was time to "cut the cake". Molly's heart fluttered, okay, maybe she was a _little_ nervous. She opened the tiny door in the back of the cake and sat in the little stool inside that she would later stand on to pop out of the top, which was just layers of tissue packed with confetti that would shoot out and rain down as she burst through. 

There was a jolt as the stagehands began to push the cake onto the stage. She took several deep breaths. Her nerves tensed. She shivered as she felt adrenaline claw up her spine. Her fight or flight instincts kicking in. "Lock it down, Hooper, you can do this!" She whispered to herself. 

She clamped her lips shut as Andre and the back up singers, led the guests in singing "Happy Birthday", her cue to jump out was at the end of the song. 

"Happy Birthday to you" _Ok, deep breaths._  

"Happy Birthday to you" The back-up singers harmonized with each other, beautifully as they sang. Molly tried to concentrate on their voices. 

"Happy Birthday, dear Sherlock" Molly choked and sputtered. _Did they just say "Sherlock"?! of course not, don't be silly. You're just thinking about him because it's his birthday today as well._

"Happy Biiiirrrth daaay.... tooooo..... yoooooooouuu!" They held out the harmony. _Pssshhh! Milking it_. Molly rolled her eyes. 

She crouched up on the stool, gripping the cord that would pop the confetti as she burst through. There was a swell of rapid drumming on the snare followed by a cymbal clash.

 _That's it! That's the cue!_ She pulled the cord that popped the confetti and jumped up through the opening in time with the confetti burst. 

She heard "oohs" and applause as she held her arms above her head in a "Y" formation closing her eyes, head cocked back, looking at the ceiling.

_Shit, the lights were really bright!_

Spots danced across her vision but before she could regain her full eyesight the Pianist dragged his hand down the keys cuing the back-up singers to begin. 

"Dip-de-dip-de-dip-de, oo-wah oo-wah" They sang.

_That means its time to slide down the cake._

She coached herself. Perched on the edge of the opening, she drew her legs out of the cake and gracefully rested them on the top tier in a seductive pose, then lifted her arms and slid down the cake the way she had practiced a few dozen times earlier that day.

Good thing she practiced until she could do this with her eyes closed because she couldn't see a thing. She situated her face in her practiced vamp expression so she didn't have crazy eyes while they adjusted to the light. 

The house lights were down and she had no hope at all of seeing the crowd, which suited her fine. However, her eyes still hadn't adjusted to the light change and even everyone with whom she shared stage were still only dark blurs. The blur directly in front of her looked like it was sitting. That was probably her mark. 

She rose gracefully to her feet and grabbed the free microphone to begin singing. 

"I heard you're feeling nothing's going right. Why don't you let me stop on by?" She turned on her toes, punctuating the last three words with a pout and flirty roll of her shoulder. 

"The clock is ticking, running out of time. So we should party alll niiight! So cover your eyes, I have a surprise. I hope you have a healthy appetite. If you wanna dance, if you want it aaaallll you know that I'm the girl that yoo-oo should call!"

This set of choreography involved finding the mark's lap, back facing him, hands planted on his thighs and a dip, arching back, her head against his chest offering a little teasing view of the cleavage.

Even though it was only briefly, she thought she could smell his cologne. It was very familiar and caused her heart to flutter and gooseflesh raise up on her arms, at the thought of the person that scent reminded her of. 

She brought herself back to the present, feeling the warmth of the man's thighs beneath her hands. Raising back up to her feet, she affectionately touched his chin and winked. Or at least she thinks she touched his chin, her vision was still pretty compromised. It felt like a chin, or at least the space between a chin and a lower lip.

"Boy when you're with me, I'll give you a taste. Make it like your birthday everyday. I know you like it sweet, so you can have your cake. Give you something good to celebrate." 

The remainder of the choreography was fairly simple: Sway hips in time to the rhythm, skate fingers over the bells of the hips, rotate shoulders, box step, turn. Her eyes finally adjusted to the light and she could make out the band and the back-up singers. 

She circled the man in the chair, letting her middle finger drag against the back of his shoulders as she crossed behind him. Hands on his shoulders for another dip behind him, slower as she ran her hands up the backs of his arms, face close to his neck as she rose up once again.

 

 _Damn the back of this guy's head looks like Sherlock!_  

"So Make a wish, I'll make it like your birthday everyday. I'll be your gift. Give you something good to celebrate."

She really needed to stop thinking about him. _It's just your guilty conscience_ , she reasoned. She was so caught up with preparing for this performance today she forgot to text him wishing him a happy birthday.

Not that he noticed or cared, but it meant something to her and she had really been beating herself up over it all day.

 _As soon as I'm done here, I'll text him,_ she resolved as she crossed in front of him, facing the audience she still couldn't see. 

"Pop your confetti, Pop your Pérignon, so hot and heavy, 'til dawn. I got you spinnin', like a disco ball, all night they're playing your song!" On cue, stage hands to the left and right set off two more confetti cannons.

"We're livin' the life, we're doing it right. You're never gonna be unsatisfied. If you wanna dance if you want it aaaalll, you know that I'm the girl that you should call!" 

More of the choreography from before- hips, hands, shoulders, box step, turn. She added a few more bounces and winks for good measure, just so it was different enough from what she'd done before to seem fresh.

She gently replaced the microphone in it's stand, holding the stand as she sang toward the crowd, still wiggling her hips in the direction of the man in the chair. 

"So make a wish, I'll make it like your birthday everyday. I'll be your gift, give you something good to celebrate."

At this point the back-up took over and that was her cue to walk behind the cake to get the props stashed behind it while they sang. 

"So let me get you in your birthday suit, it's time to bring out the big balloons." They sang repeatedly Molly reappeared from behind the cake carrying a balloon bouquet and a party hat.

Setting the balloons down beside the man, she sat in his lap while she put the hat on him. Finally taking the opportunity to get a proper look at the man she'd been singing to. Her hands trembled when her brain caught up with her eyes and she felt like she would fall off of his lap. 

Sherlock steadied her with hands on either side of her hips. While his eyes sparkled with humor, Molly's sunk in horror. She jumped up from his lap a little quicker than she meant to. Determined to tamp down her panic. She was in the home stretch now, best to just power through.

She couldn't take her eyes off of his while she sang the last few lines of the song. She felt her voice cracking just a bit and she struggled to get it back under control.

"Boy when you're with me, I'll give you a taste. Make it like your birthday everyday. I know you like it sweet, so you can have your cake, give you something good to celebrate."

With his eyes burrowing into hers she found it difficult to remember her choreography, even if it was the same routine she'd done twice before. She managed, but only just. It felt  a bit more robotic than the other times. But at least concentrating on her movements kept her from shivering. 

She repeated the chorus a final time while stepping toward him.

"Boy when you're with me, I'll give you a taste. Make it like your birthday everyday. I know you like it sweet, so you can have your cake. Give you something good to celebrate. So Make a wish, make it like your birthday everyday. I'll be your gift. Give you something good, give you something good. I'll give you something good to celebraaaaaaate!"

Jazz hands.

The back up sang the final "Happy Birthday!" In a stretched out harmony and she planted a kiss on his cheek as it ended.

This was a choreographed move or she would already be running off stage. She thought she heard him whisper "Thank you." before the room burst into applause and the house lights came back up.

Worse than the horror of realizing the man she'd been singing to was Sherlock, was when the penny finally dropped and she realized that if this was Sherlock that must mean her audience was... _Oh God!_

It was practically everyone she knew. Her coworkers who were familiar with how long and desperately she'd pined for Sherlock. Did they think she'd staged this herself? That she'd orchestrated this elaborate surprise out of some pathetic plea for attention? She felt her face become flaming red hot and trembled while she forced herself to stay on stage.

She took her bow while they applauded and hooted, gestured for the crowd to applaud for the band and they stood to bow as well.

Then another gesture indicating they should applaud for Sherlock and she rushed off the stage as fast as she could while the band broke into another jazz song as the party carried on without her. 

As soon as she felt herself being enveloped by the dark of back stage she began yanking at the lacing around her ankles to tear those damn shoes off of her feet. She needed help undoing the corset but found Bethany back stage who helped her out of it. She was fighting tears as she struggled to get out of that damn dress as quickly as possible.

Bethany managed to free her and she lept toward her street clothes that were piled on the vanity chair. She shoved her clothes on and jumped into her flats. 

"Wait! Molly! We have a few more songs left!"

It's true, the band was booked to play a full set. But she couldn't there's absolutely no way she could. Her eyes were wide and she was shaking.

"I-I can't Bethany. Do it without me, please!? I'm sorry! I'll take one of your Miley Cyrus gigs if you let me leave right now!"

That was an offer too good to refuse and Bethany nodded quickly in agreement "Yeah! Yeah ok!" before Molly could change her mind.

Molly sighed in relief, "Thank you!" It would be worth the inevitable "Molly" jokes to bail out of this situation. She kissed Bethany on the cheek before rushing out the back entrance, booking it to the closest tube station home. 

 

* * *

 

"I've a mind to call your mother, Mycroft Holmes! Shame on you!" Mrs. Hudson scolded. Mycroft blinked apathetically and shrugged.

"Humiliating poor Molly Hooper like that! What's she ever done to you?" 

" _That_ was Molly Hooper?!" Greg asked, looking absolutely gobsmacked. 

"Of course it was, weren't you paying attention?" John stated more than asked. 

"I thought I was." Greg shook his head as if he would never rid himself of that mental image. "Who knew she had it in her? Too bad it was wasted on Sherlock." 

Everyone seemed to shrug in half-hearted agreement. 

"In what way, Gareth?" Their conversation was interrupted by Sherlock's voice, loud over the music. 

"Excuse me, what? My name is Greg, Sherlock. Short for Gregory. Greg is the name my mother gave me. Not Gareth or Gavin or bloody Gary, Greg!" Lestrade answered. 

"In what way was Molly's performance _wasted_ on me?" Sherlock asked more clearly. Completely ignoring the "Greg" tangent.

John's shoes suddenly became fascinating as he seemed keen to avoid this conversation and Mary was too busy shooting daggers at Mycroft to even pay attention. While Mrs. Hudson took that as her cue to make herself scarce.

Greg was on his own except for Stamford who was nibbling at a roll from the buffet. He looked on either side if him and found no back up. Where was Donovan when you needed her? 

Dancing with Anderson staying well away from this conversation, apparently.

"It's just it was... You know, sexy and you... Well you're _you_." Greg answered and then pretended to need to clear his throat so he could have an excuse to take a deep gulp of his drink.

"And it's wasted on me because it was sexy or because I'm me?" Sherlock pushed. 

Greg sputtered into his glass "Well... Either, Sherlock! Take your pick." 

"We're off, Sherlock." John announced holding Mary's hand and trying to drag her away from Mycroft before she starts swinging at him. "Got to pick Jilly up from the sitter's. Happy birthday." He gave Sherlock an affectionate back slap before hauling Mary away hastily. 

"This notion that I am some sort of eunuch was humorous at first, but it's gotten old very quickly." Sherlock spoke, casting a sidelong glance at Mycroft as he spoke.

"So you're _not_ then?" Greg prodded tentatively. 

"Not what? A eunuch?! No, I'm a perfectly whole male, I assure you." Sherlock snorted derisively.

Mycroft watched the whole situation disintegrate with a glint of amusement sparkling in his eyes. 

"Not that!" Greg said defensively "I mean you're not..." He searched for the right word. "Asexual?" 

"Not having a sexuality and choosing not to indulge in sexuality are different things, Lestrade." 

Mike made his presence known for once by nearly choking on his food. Sherlock practically admitted to having a sexuality, not that he specified any further than that.

"Look, I'm not teasing you, Sherlock. It's just clear you don't want her, that's all." Greg defended. 

"What!? How is that _clear_!?" Sherlock was becoming agitated. This is why he did not talk about this. He did not understand sexuality as it pertained to social norms.

"Are you serious? A pretty bird like her- bright, kind, game for a laugh and obviously has it bad for you. Had it been me in that position, I'd have had her by now. Sewn up proper, too. Girlfriend, fiancee, wife I'd have her locked down any way I could get her." Lestrade confessed. 

Sherlock looked over at Stamford who was nodding thoughtfully. 

"Oh wipe your chin, Mike! You're her boss! Try to have some bloody respect!" 

"I'm just agreeing hypothetically." Mike said defensively. "I'm a happily married man." 

"As am I." Sherlock stated matter-of-factly "I'm married to my work."

Mike rolled his eyes and groaned "We're all married to our bloody work, Sherlock. But the work is a frigid bitch."

Lestrade grunted in agreement, the ice in his glass clinking as he downed the last of his drink. Even Mycroft shrugged and gave a single nod, reluctantly acknowledging the truth of it.

"Cold, hard reason is forever. But there's only so much of the warm and agreeable a man gets in his life, and you've got to take it while you can."

 "Amen!" Lestrade rose his glass to Mike. 

Mycroft rose to his feet throwing his coat over his arm, umbrella in hand. "Not that this hasn't been thoroughly entertaining, I really must be going." He turned and strode away. 

"You've made my shit list, Mycroft Holmes!" Mike called out. Mycroft paused for a moment but then kept walking.

"I mean it." Stamford asserted. "Do you know the kind of hell I'm in for if she quits because of this and I have to look for her replacement?" Greg nodded sympathetically. 

"Why would she quit over this?" Sherlock asked, voice only slightly colored with distress.

"She's shy, Sherlock. She's not shamless like you. Everyone saw _that_ and she's probably worried that people will respect her less." Lestrade explained. 

"Do you?" Sherlock asked now becoming quite concerned. "Respect her less, I mean?" 

They both shook their heads and said "No!" In emphatic unison. 

"It's just..." Mike started but floundered as he struggled to come up with the proper explanation. 

"It's might be a bit hard working with her now without... _Ahem_... Picturing it. She looked just... Wow! And you know everyone knows about her and...you and people gossip." Greg finished for him. 

"What about us?" Sherlock asked this conversation was very frustrating. He felt like he was missing something.

"About her crush and about how you... Well you kind of string her along don't you? After Tom people thought... Well nevermind. It's just that it's a bit sad. That's all." Mike explained. Working at the hospital he was more familiar with the gossip that flies around the proverbial water cooler. "No one understands what she's getting out of it. Out of whatever it is the two of you are."

Lestrade nodded along as Mike spoke.

Sherlock didn't know what he found more infuriating, this conversation or the revelation that any of the imbeciles Molly worked with had the audacity to pity her. They are dull and she is brilliant and apparently talented. Although she'd manage to keep that part of her secret from him. He would be impressed if it weren't for the nagging sensation he felt when he thought about _why_ she kept it from him. 

He did not like this business of Molly keeping secrets _from_ him. Keeping secrets _for_ him is supposed to be her modus operandi. 

It's unfair.

She already knows everything worth knowing about him. How dare she keep secrets? Weren't they friends? Had he really convinced her so well of disinterest that she actually believed he wouldn't care? Or did she hide it to protect herself from his ridicule? Sherlock hated to think of all the ways he could have been responsible for her hiding parts of her life from him. 

In fact, the more he thought about it, the more it disturbed him. What else could she be hiding? Molly had proven herself a mystery to him. He felt a familiar need to _unravel_  coil in his stomach. He needed to find her, he needed to get to the bottom of this person he trusted so well and knew so little. 

_The game is on._

"John's right. It is scary when he does that." Lestrade mumbled to Stamford.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I had to hurry up and get this out before I lost my nerve. I'm pretty sure I'll add more later. Who knows? Maybe it will warrant a ratings change. ;) I have some fan art for this fic on my Tumblr: o0katiekins0o can't wait to hear what you think.


	3. One Way or Another

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly sends Sherlock on a birthday scavenger hunt.

Molly left in such a hurry she had forgotten to take off her gloves and bow until she began to notice the odd looks from the other passengers.

She pulled them off and stashed them in her purse, which was really an enormous messenger bag. Sherlock often referred to as "The Black Hole" because of her ability to crush ridiculous amounts of detritus inside of it, and the limited likelihood that whatever found it's way inside would ever see daylight again.

Molly sighed. Trying not to think about Sherlock was hard on a normal day. But after the night she's had it was next to impossible. And, of course, since thinking of Sherlock was the absolute last thing she wanted to do right now, she found it was all she could do.

The more she thought about what occurred that night, the more she began to think that Mycroft must have been the one to set this up. It was certainly unlike Sherlock to throw himself a party, any kind of party, especially a surprise party. Even the infamous Christmas cocktail parties at Baker Street were planned by John and Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock was always a reluctant, if not, unwilling participant. 

It absolutely had to be Mycroft. She didn't know much about his and Sherlock's relationship, but she knew enough to understand it was very sophomoric. They were given to frequent childish sniping and pranks. 

The train came to a stop letting passengers on and off. She was midtown, two stops before the station closest to her flat. She made a snap decision to get off here and wander around. She didn't really feel like holing up at home and drinking alone. Besides, she didn't have enough alcohol at home for a proper evening of getting black out drunk anyway. 

Darting out into London's evening air, she inhaled deeply. Unsure of where to go first, she remembered her resolution to send Sherlock his birthday text. She pulled out her mobile and fired off a brief text before shoving her phone back in her pocket and strolling onward. 

 

* * *

 

 Sherlock didn't say goodbye, he left his own party without a word immediately following his conversation with Stamford and Lestrade. The majority of the guests remained as the band played on and the bar continued serving free drinks. He didn't want the party to stop, even if he wasn't there. 

Since Mycroft insisted on this little joke of his, they may as well run up the tab. Hardly revenge, but at least it was something. 

Sherlock hailed a cab. Jumping in he gave the cabbie Molly's address and took out his mobile. He wondered if he should maybe text or call her. He wasn't really sure what the protocol was in this situation. Was he supposed to apologize? 

It's not as if he'd planned this. Sure, he had a history of humiliating Molly in the past but that was all amateur compared to this. She had to know it wasn't him that set this up. Surely she'd worked that out by now.

He began to worry and took his phone from his pocket just as he received a text from Molly.

 _Never got a chance to say it properly- Happy Birthday, Sherlock_.

He grinned as he looked at the message and formed his reply. 

 _A song and dance isn't a proper way to say it, but a text is?_  

She took no time to answer.

_It is on Sherlock Holmes' birthday. He doesn't go in for the song and dance._

Sherlock smirked at her turn of phrase. She knew him well. He hated to think that, on top of everything else, she might feel guilty for her unwitting participation in Mycroft's prank. He texted back.

_I'm beginning to see it's merits._

The cab pulled to a stop in front of Molly's building. He paid the cabbie and got out. He buzzed her flat when he reached the door but there was no answer.

He buzzed again, still no answer. Was she trying to avoid him? He took a few steps back and looked up. The window to her sitting room was dark. Was she not home?

He buzzed a neighbor who always let him in. He knocked on her door. No answer still. She could be so stubborn. Without hesitation he dropped to his knees and picked her lock. He really needed to get a spare key. 

The door swung open loudly into the dark stillness of her flat. He checked every room and he only found a cranky Toby annoyed that he hadn't been fed yet. She was definitely not home. He filled Toby's dish and plopped down on her sofa, contemplating what to do from here. Should he just _wait_ for her?

Where would she have gone? This was very un-Molly of her. He was sure he'd find her here, face scrubbed clean, in her pyjama bottoms and a ratty shirt having a drink and a sulk. But, then again, he was finding out all sorts of new things about her today, apparently. 

He took out his mobile again, this time using his camera he took a selfie sitting on her sofa next to the empty spot where she would normally be curled up on their nights in together. He sent it to her with the caption:

_What's wrong with this picture?_

her short reply came moments later: 

_Evidence of breaking and entering?_

He sighed. She was being coy. His next text was more direct.

_Where are you?_

His phone chimed seconds later.

_Aren't you the detective? You tell me._

Sherlock grinned. Lestrade's description of her is accurate. She is game for a laugh. He hadn't indulged in that side of her personality much in the time he's known her.

_Don't I get clues?_

Her answer took longer this time. 

_Yes. Three: 1. Midtown. 2. Shopping 3..._

The next message was a photo of rows and rows of book shelves.

He studied the photo carefully. It wasn't a chain or department store book section. The shop seemed small and full of older used books as well as new. A quick Google search narrowed down the possibilities. 

He examined the map of train stations in his mind palace and cross-referenced it with the possible book shops where she could be.

She said she was midtown, the closest tube station to midtown on the route from the venue... It must be this one.

He jumped up from the sofa and hurried out to hail another taxi, giving him the address to the book shop he smiled to himself as he formulated a plan to surprise her. Turn about being fair play and all that.

He paid the cabbie in a hurry and rushed into the book shop. There were about a dozen patrons milling about. Having coffee, or chatting and a few employees busying themselves with their various tasks.

He scanned the area quickly but no Molly. He went down each aisle looking for her even resorting to calling her name,  which had some of the patrons giving him curious looks. 

"Sir. Sir?... Mr. Holmes?" An employee approached him. Great, not really a good time for dealing with 'fans'. He barely acknowledged the person speaking to him but it was enough and the person kept talking. "Sir, the woman you are looking for left. She told me to give you this..."

He reached into the pocket of his apron and handed Sherlock an envelope. Carefully, Sherlock broke the seal and removed the contents. It was a birthday card with a kitten wearing a party hat. Inside was a note from Molly:

_Sherlock,_

_I was going to wait for you but my make-up doesn't match my clothes. Remedying the situation. Two blocks north, turn left._

_-Molly_

Sherlock rushed out of the shop brusquely nudging past the employee that Molly had assigned to give him the card. He mumbled a barely audible "Excuse me" before pushing the door open and walking out onto the sidewalk.

When he arrived at the point Molly told him she'd be there were several shops and boutiques. He recalled what she'd written in the card. She was looking to find clothes that matched her make up, or make up that matched her clothes. Although he'd seen her make up. He didn't see what she changed into after the song. Odds were that she meant she was shopping for clothes. 

That narrowed it down a bit. The shops on this road were varied. Obviously, he could eliminate any shop that catered specifically for menswear and shops that were designer specific. Molly was _definitely_ not a label whore. It wouldn't surprise him if she had never worn a designer label in her life.

She said to match her make up. What did her make up look like? He called the image to his mind: black winged eyeliner, false lashes, bright pink lipstick and blush, and glitter- lots of rainbow glitter. She looked like she was covered in sprinkles and she smelled like cake.

He shook his head.  _Irrelevant._

He scanned the window of each shop as he passed, then came to an abrupt halt as he came upon a painfully trendy boutique specializing in alternative and subculture clothing. In the window were a number of fluffy pink dresses as well as a variety of black latex garments, and a strange melange of Victorian and Edwardian styles. 

Dreadful alternative rock filtered out onto the street and Sherlock felt compelled to enter. Intuitively, he felt this must be the place. 

The employee closest to the door greeted him and complimented his coat. "Did you buy that here?" She asked. He furrowed his brow and shook his head. "Oh. It's just that we carry a few similar items. " And she gestured toward the section labelled "Steampunk".

Sherlock looked around the shop and he could not find Molly. Maybe he'd gotten it wrong. Maybe this wasn't he correct shop. The more he looked around at the racks of odd clothes for loud personalities, the more he felt sure this wasn't in the kind of place whose door would ever be darkened by the likes of Molly Hooper. As he turned to leave he felt a hand on his shoulder. 

"Sherlock?" A small voice asked and he whirled around to find a small woman with purple hair and facial piercings, dressed like a overly-stylized Victorian maid. "Yes..." He answered tentatively.

She exhaled. "I thought it was you! I'm a big fan! I know you probably get asked this all the time but could you sign-"

"No, I'm in a hurry, actually. I'm looking for someone." He didn't get a chance to turn fully toward the door before the small woman replied, "Oh I know. She was just here. She told me to give you this..." 

She rushed behind the counter and produced a small wrapped package. He opened it quickly. 

Inside was an antique brass Jeweler's Loup. He took a moment to admire it. Holding it up so it caught the light. He pressed it against his eye to examine the details of his wristwatch. It was a truly beautiful piece and it fit neatly into his pocket. He would definitely make use of it in the future.

"Lovely isn't it? We only get one or two in now and again. They're antiques and there aren't many of them." The young woman explained. 

"Did she leave a note or maybe a message?" He ignored her commentary to ask. 

"Yes, actually she did!" The young woman dug the not out of her pocket and handed it to him.

_Sherlock,_

_All dressed up and no place to go. Got a bit peckish. Join me? Don't forget to say min fudlika and shokran._

_-Molly_

Min Fudlika and Shokran, both Arabic words meaning please and thank you, respectively. She's gone to a restaurant with a Middle Eastern style of cuisine.

He looked up at the woman who handed him the note."Is there a Middle Eastern restaurant nearby?" He asked genially.

She looked confused for a moment. "Well, there's a Moroccan restaurant the next street over. That way." She pointed west.  

"Thank you." He gave her a wink and sideways grin that made her blush before he rushed out of the shop, bell jangling behind him as the door closed.

He turned the corner on the street the woman in the shop indicated earlier but it was very dark. There didn't seem to be much in the way of business down here. But he could hear peals of music and he followed the sound but was confused when there was no restaurant front to speak of.

His phone chimed with a message from Molly. It was a picture of her. Her mouth was open and wisps of smoke were curling past her lips, her eyes barely peeked through her lashes in a beckoning expression. The caption beneath read: _Getting warmer_.

He continued to follow the music despite the lack of shop fronts ahead. Soon he could smell spices and tobacco and something cloyingly sweet, like molasses.

The sounds and smells reached a climax as he stopped to look around. Directly in front of him was a small set of steps leading down to the basement level of the building he was standing outside of. 

Down the steps there was a small glass door with writing splayed across it in Arabic and below it in English it read: The Argana Cafe.

This had to be it. 

"Ahlan wa Salahn, sir. How many in your party?" A twenty-something male if Middle Eastern descent greeted him. He was in a black t-shirt,  distressed jeans and a black studded wrist cuff. He had a pierced septum and it looked like he was wearing eyeliner.

The restaurant seemed very authentic aside from all the hipsters. 

"I'm actually here to meet someone." Sherlock explained, still scanning the room for Molly's face. 

"Oh! You must be here for Molly!" He responded brightly, "Right this way." The young man gestured for Sherlock to follow him, carefully weaving through the crowded restaurant as people were seated on cushions on the floor before low tables, laughing.

"This place used to just be a small neighborhood restaurant. It's not a great location, to be honest. Molly got the band to play here a few times a month and it turned the place around. Now, it's become somewhat of a popular night spot. We owe a lot to her, she saved my family's restaurant." The young man halted Sherlock with a raised hand. Stopping him in front of a large elaborate curtain. "Oh just through here-" He gestured to a small annex at the back of the restaurant. "Enjoy." 

Smoke filtered through the opening as he pulled back a heavy curtain to reveal a few other small tables occupied by people eating, talking and periodically taking draws from the metal tips of a long hose connected to a large glass implement in the center of each table. The sticky sweet molasses scent mixed with tobacco became much stronger as he stepped through and scanned the room.

At the far corner, sitting on a plush embroidered cushion was Molly. Shopping bags surrounded her. Her legs were crossed daintily, the silver tip of the hose resting against her lower lip as she skimmed a page on, what appeared to be, a new book. Probably one she picked up from the book store during her first stop.

Her choice of wardrobe was equal parts surprising and completely Molly: Pink strapless cotton dress with a sweetheart neckline and eyelet pattern dotting the bodice and skirt, her cherry jumper pulled across her shoulders. She was wearing her old black Mary Janes she usually wore in the lab.

Her hair was parted on the side, the way Sherlock had always found most fetching on her, it was down and gathered to one shoulder. He'd rarely gotten to see her with her hair down, when he did it was usually because he caught her at a bad time; just having woken up, or just exiting the shower. To see her like this was a treat. 

He watched her chest expand as she drew on the nozzle of the hookah. As if feeling his gaze, she turned to the other side of the room where Sherlock stood. Her lower lip dropped and thick white smoke slid out in cloudy wisps that curled upward in the direction of her smile.

He felt another rush of suprise at the sight of her smoking. Or at least doing something rather similar to smoking. Admittedly, he found the image rather... Stirring.

"Glad you made it!" She beamed and held out an open hand toward a pillow situated at the opposite side of the table, invitingly. "Care to join me?" 

He smirked and shucked his coat, laying it gingerly on the floor beside the table. "Don't mind if I do." 

She watched him from where she was seated as he lowered himself down onto his own pillow, gracefully. She took another draw from the Hookah and blew it out as he seated himself in time for her puff of smoke to catch him in the face. 

"Oh sorry!" She blushed and covered her mouth. 

He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. "No... It's... It's fine." A smile of satisfaction crossed his face and a little whimper escaped with his exhale. 

The blush spread to her chest and his reaction. She picked up the second hose attached to the hookah and offered it to him. He made an expression like he was debating whether or not he should. He'd been doing well.

"Go on, it's your birthday. I won't say anything." She winked. 

Her reasoning was ironclad and he submitted to it immediately and with gusto, taking the silver nozzle between his lips and inhaling slowly, savoring it.

She had chosen vanilla flavored shisha and it reminded him of being caressed by small hands and a warm voice. He took a moment to lose himself in the synesthesia. The taste of the shisha, the memory of her performance and  basking in the comfort of her presence.

He hummed happily as he exhaled a cloud go smoke above his head. Coming back to himself he looked at her, still in the dreamy haze of a nicotine fix. "Quite a goose chase you sent me on, Miss Hooper." He set the nozzle between his teeth for a second long draw. 

She smiled demurely, something like mischief flickered in her eyes. "You're quite welcome, Mr. Holmes." There was another long pause as he exhaled another lungful, contentedly. "I didn't think you'd actually come looking for me after... You know, after the party." 

He held out on taking a third draw to consider her words, "I just wanted to make sure you know, it wasn't me. I would never have-"

"I know." She cut him off "You don't like that sort of... And even if you did... Not from me." She stammered a bit and smiled weakly. "As soon as I got far enough away to really think, I figured that it must have been Mycroft taking the piss." Then she grimaced as she recalled who the rest of the audience was comprised of.

He followed her train of thought. "Don't worry about it, Molly. It doesn't matter what anyone else thinks. Half of those people are barely any good at their own jobs. You however, appear to be extremely proficient at two. Very impressive, Dr. Hooper." His lips curled upward as he spoke her name.

Molly couldn't help but smile at his compliment. No gushing or gilding of the lily, just a statement he found to be true. She blushed slightly. It meant so much more than some hollow, flowery praise. "I just want to apologize if it was... Well if you were uncomfortable. I didn't mean to... Maybe this singing telegram thing isn't as nice a gesture as I thought." She giggled meekly.

"As I've said, don't worry about it. Your performance was... quite entertaining." He cleared his throat and looked away. 

There was an awkward sort of silence that followed. Molly's heartbeat was thrumming so forcefully she was certain he could hear it. She felt like she needed to say something but she couldn't think of anything so she grasped for the first thing that came to mind.

"So... Mycroft must be pretty pleased with himself." She chuckled slightly to lighten the mood. 

Sherlock scowled "Disgustingly pleased. It was practically obscene. Mrs. Hudson threatened to call mummy, Mary was threatening him with bodily harm and Stamford told him he'd made his 'shit list'." Sherlock did air quotes and a chuckle rumbled in his chest.

"Doctor Stamford? Why would he say that?" Molly asked, trying to keep her voice even. 

"He was worried you would be so embarrassed about tonight that you would quit and he would be forced to look for your replacement." Sherlock replied casually "As if you care what your coworkers say." 

Molly visibly deflated at his last statement but tried to busy herself with the hookah to keep from telegraphing her dismay. "Wh- Uhm... What kind of things do they say?" She immediately placed the nozzle in her mouth and took another draw from the hookah.

"Oh, you know, that I take advantage of your sexual attraction toward me and I string you along. The usual drivel." 

Molly choked out a cloud of smoke and patted herself on the chest as she coughed hard. Beet red and struggling to catch her breath, Sherlock nudged her water glass toward her.

"I've said something wrong haven't I?" Sherlock's brow raised in concern while he watched her gulp down mouthfuls of ice water. 

She gasped and wiped her chin delicately, regaining her composure. "No, it's... It's fine. I guess I've always known that's what they were saying. I haven't done much to put anyone off the notion. I'm sorry, Sherlock." She took her lower lip in her teeth. 

"Why are you apologizing to me?" His nose wrinkled in in confusion. 

"It's just that I admire your work and I genuinely enjoy helping out anyway I can." She worried her bottom lip with her teeth. 

Sherlock chuckled heartily, "I ask again, why are you apologizing to me?" He was looking directly at her as he took another draw of the syrupy sweet smoke that smelled and tasted so thoroughly Molly that it made his mouth water. 

"I don't just help you out of some misguided schoolgirl crush. It's the work that matters. I would still help you, you know, even if you weren't..." The last bit of her sentence obscured to an unintelligible mumble when she slid the nozzle back into her mouth and took a deep draw.

"If I weren't what?" He pressed, his look of confusion lightened by a hint of a smile. 

Molly's back was arched slightly, chest pushed forward, holding her smoke. She sighed out her smoke and shook her head incredulously. Sherlock watched her chest fall as the smoke escaped with rapt fascination.

"Don't act like you don't know you're gorgeous, Sherlock." She rolled her eyes. 

It was Sherlock's turn to choke at her words, although he took considerably less time to recover, he still croaked out, "Beauty is a construct based entirely on-"

"Oh blow it out your arse, Sherlock! Everything you do, the way you dress, the way you talk. You do it on purpose because you know what it does to... To people." Molly rambled out without thinking. If she had she might have gone with a different tactic.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, "And what exactly, does it do... To people?" His voice lowered to that terrifyingly deep timbre that made Molly feel like she was shaking into splinters. 

She shivered "That-" She answered breathlessly, "That's what I'm talking about. The voice... It's unfair." Her voice was hushed to a near-whisper. 

"It's just my voice, Molly." He said dismissively, but couldn't mask the barest hint of a smug smile teasing the corner of his lips. 

Molly nodded, "Yes it's just your voice. And those are just your eyes, and that is just your hair, and your body, and your bum. And it's all just a set of very neatly ordered genetic traits that make you a perfect human specimen. A fact that you work to your advantage to get your way." Molly babbled out on a single breath, she inhaled deeply and started in again before he could interject, "I'm not judging you, Sherlock. God knows I would if I could. But it's just... It's not fair." 

Sherlock reared his head back and roared with laughter while a perplexed Molly looked on with brows furrowed and lips pursed, looking rather put out. He continued laughing, unconcerned by her scrutiny until it lulled into a mirthful sigh. "Oh you're good, Molly, very good. Brava!"

Molly scowled and shook her head in confusion. 

"There. You're doing it again." He pointed at her. "You're very good at pretending you don't know what you do to men. Oh hi, I'm just clever Molly Hooper. Don't mind me. I'll just stand in the corner with my slender curves and petal lips, undressing you with my big doe eyes while you try to work. Let me know if you need anything! Tralala!" He mocked. " _That_ is what's unfair, Molly. It's _very_ distracting. I have work to do." 

Slightly perturbed, he turned his attention back to the hookah, inhaling with a contemplative glower. 

Molly's breath hitched as anger boiled inside her. "Don't you dare, Sherlock. It's not funny." She seethed through gritted teeth. 

Sherlock growled and gave the small table a swift pound with his closed fist. The action made Molly jump and squeak in surprise. "This is exactly why I don't do this. I can't have this conversation, Molly. I try like hell to ignore your flirtation and I'm accused of being cruel. I confess a mutual attraction and you accuse me of playing some sort of sick game. Can't you see this is a no-win scenario for me? I'm a cad either way." His head was bent and he was looking at her with his narrowed, predatory eyes.

Molly was quiet for a moment, taking measured even breaths while staring at the grain on the wood of the table. "You've said such horrible things to me. You told me my mouth and breasts are too small, in front of people. You've embarrassed me for the sake of it..." 

Tipping his head back with his hands over his face, he let out an exasperated groan. "Haven't I lived that down already? Molly, it was years ago. I thought we were past this." 

Molly folded her arms across her chest and set her jaw in an expression of determination, cocking her head in challenge.

"But clearly you still think this needs addressing, so I'll address it. I happen to like that color of lipstick on you. When I failed to favorably acknowledge the aesthetic, you removed it. That was the most direct method I could come up with to get you to continue wearing it for me."

Molly giggled nervously,  "But Sherlock, that's so..."

"Childish? Yes John is fond of reminding me of that fact. As for Christmas, same story different version. I deduced the gift for an unrequited love and assumed... But it was for me and...Well there's always something I miss. I apologized. And to my recollection, I did not say your breasts are too small. I said you were _compensating_ for their size. _You_ think they're too small. My personal opinion them is... Irrelevant." On the last word he shook his head as if trying to push away an unwelcome thought.

"What makes you think _I_ think they're too small?" She asked, a bit defiantly. 

"Oh please! In that awful contraption someone had the nerve to call a brassiere crushing the poor things within an inch of their lives? It's a wonder you could even breathe, you had them practically pressed into your throat! Why else would a person do that to themselves?" Molly had to stifle a loud chuckle at the emphatic gestures he made with his hands in front of his chest. 

Molly blushed and chewed her lower lip in the sweet, coy way she had a habit of. "Ok, thank you for addressing that, Sherlock. That was... Good." She peeked up at him with a sideways smile. He exhaled heavily with relief then inhaled from the hookah, grateful for the nicotine buffer.

"One more thing, Sherlock..." She began. He gestured for her to continue as he took his longest pull yet. 

"That day, you took me along to solve cases. Was that meant to be a sort of... Date?" She grimaced as she asked, bracing herself against a harsh response. 

Instead he exhaled smoke in a fine stream and smiled wickedly. "Caught on to that did you?"

"So... Does that mean this is our second date?" Molly grinned, matching him for wickedness.

"Actually, the day we spent in the lab analyzing the footprint residue was our first date." He stated, matter-of-factly. 

"Oh it was?" Molly asked surprised.

"Yes, I brought you crisps." He explained, his voice was back to that dangerous register that made Molly tingle. "Which means that this..." He reached over the table and took her hand in his "is, in fact our _third_ date." 

Molly's mind reeled. Why such emphasis on _third_? Does he know what that means to ordinary people? Molly was certain he didn't mean it the way she thought, but the look in his eyes suggested otherwise. The pad of his thumb brushed over her knuckles rhythmically, and she was struggling to gather her up her thoughts for a long moment. 

"What are you thinking, Molly?" His low voice calling her back from her random, swirling thoughts.

"Just reconsidering my choice of 'thank you' gift for Mycroft. Given the current results of his prank." Molly, answered after a shorter pause. 

Sherlock scowled at the mention of Mycroft. "You got him a gift? On _my_ birthday?"

Molly nodded slowly, lips curled in a mischievous smile. With her free hand, she slid the book she had been reading when Sherlock first arrived, across the table to him. 

He picked it up and read the title aloud, "Skinny Bitch: A No-Nonsense, Tough-Love Guide for Savvy Girls Who Want to Stop Eating Crap and Start Looking Fabulous" He shook with laughter.

Molly beamed with pride. "Thought you might like that. Check the inscription on the front cover..." 

Sherlock flipped open the cover to find the writing in Molly's loopy scrawl: 

_Mycroft,_

_Thank you for your patronage. I always knew you liked cake. I never knew how much._

_Regards, Molly_

Sherlock looked up at her with a fresh wave of admiration brightening his face. 

"Since it's your birthday, you can sign it too and we can say it's from the _both_ of us." She added, offering a pen.

He took it and eagerly added ' _& Sherlock' _ after her name. He threw the pen down and looked at her hungrily.

"Molly, I'm going to kiss you now." 

Before she had a chance to react, he lunged across the table taking her face in his large hands and pressing his lips into hers, eagerly. 

Molly responded with fervor, parting her lips, invitingly. He caressed his hand over her cheekbone, past her ear, finally stopping to grip her at the base of her skull and pulling her in tighter. He breeched her mouth with a broad stroke of his tongue over hers. She whimpered and gripped his hair tightly in both fists. 

She tasted like lipstick, tobacco, vanilla and spices. A beautiful medley of flavors that told the story of all the little moments that led up to this. He reveled in the tiny mewls she let out as he nipped and licked into her pouting mouth. He was content to continue his indulgent exploration of his warm and agreeable pathologist but she retreated from his kiss, tentatively. He opened his eyes to find hers darting sideways as people had begun to gawp. She withdrew from his kiss to gently nuzzle up his neck and whispered in his ear. "Do you want to get out of here?"

Eyes wild, he immediately rose to his feet. Bending down he hauled her up by her waist, taking her by the hand and pulling her behind him toward the exit. He flagged down a taxi almost immediately, opened the door and escorted her in the cab before barking her address at the back of the man's head. Slamming the door, he situated himself in the seat before turning back to Molly to take her in yet another fierce, indulgent kiss as they sped off into the cool of the London evening. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW! Seriously so glad to be done with this chapter!!! It's been haunting me. I think I'll have just one more on this fic before bringing it to a close. The response has been really awesome. I'm so glad people are enjoying it. Don't forget to check me out on Tumblr: o0Katiekins0o.


	4. I'll Take You to the Candy Shop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock learns the hard way, it's always the quiet ones. Be advised of the ratings change!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday to mslestat! Hope it was a fabulous and that you had your cake!

The back of the cab en route to Molly's flat was silent aside from a shameful amount of smacking and labored breathing.

Molly might have been embarrassed at the display they were putting on if it weren't for the fact that a.) This certainly couldn't have been the first time this cabbie had a couple using his car as a closet for some post-adolescent version of 7 minutes in Heaven. It was practically an occupational hazard. He was professional enough to keep his eyes forward and drive. Sherlock certainly didn't seem to be concerned with whether they were trodding on the cabbie's sensibilities so why should she?

And b.) Seriously fuck anything and anyone who would try to make her feel bad about this. God knows how bad she's wanted it and they were past the point of subtlety now, it was time for action.

Now, with Sherlock's hands and lips and hot breath leaving tingling trails all over her, it seemed like action was what she was going to get.

It was his birthday yet it was she who felt like she was getting a gift. That would simply not do, she was not going to take without giving. Poor Sherlock had fallen into a Venus flytrap and she had every intention of devouring him whole.

Grazing his earlobe with her teeth while he nuzzled into her vanilla-scented throat, she let her hand travel down his chest and further. Resolutely venturing south until she came upon the hard line pressing into his trousers.

Her fingers trailed over where the head of his cock was pressing against the metal teeth of his trouser zip. There was no way this could be comfortable for him. So being the thoughtful, caring woman she was, she resolved to give him a bit of relief.

Her fingertips slipped beneath the waistband of his trousers, making a bit of space so she could safely lower the zip with her other hand, carefully, carefully. Mindful of his straining cock. Her fingers brushed over the length of him as she worked.

He froze, firmly gripping the back of her neck, resting his forehead against the side of her face. She could feel his breath go ragged when the zip lowered and she shucked his trousers and pants down far enough to release him. He stopped breathing altogether when she pushed away from him and lowered her face to his lap in a single smooth motion.

He tensed as she nuzzled him tentatively, not wanting to breech beyond the boundary of his comfort level, she merely ran her lips over the length of him sweetly and with an exhale she felt him relax against the seatback and coil his fingers against her neck, gently massaging where it met the back of her skull. 

She hummed happily at his touch and he hissed at the sensation. She took his actions as permission and wet her lips, gliding them down his length before reaching the head to swirl her tongue over it. He made a low rumbling noise in his chest that made her tingle. 

Unwilling to tease him further, she gripped him firmly by the base, angling him upward  and swallowed him down completely in a single stroke. Regular vocal exercises really did spectacular things with regard to this particular skillset. He stifled a moan in the crook of his arm, he'd thrown hastily over his face. 

One hand dove down to work his bollocks while the other reached up to tighten her fingers into his hair while she bobbed on his pulsing hot erection holding him deep in the back of her throat. She drew up her knees so she was on all fours across the back seat of the cab, lapping ceaselessly at the pearls of precum that trickled from his cock. He shuddered beneath her. 

He huffed desparately as it felt as though the oxygen in the back of the cab had vanished.

He hooked a finger around the knot holding his scarf to his throat, yanking at it in frustration. Remembering his gloves, he took the seam on the tip of his index finger between his teeth and pulled it off to free his hand so he could take advantage of Molly's position. 

He ran his bare hand over her back until he reached the skirt of her dress, fisting a handful of the fabric and tossing it carelessly up over her waist so he could grope at her plump little arse. She tugged gently at his hair and bollocks simultaneously in response to his attentions.

At this he squeezed at her flesh harder and artlessly dug his fingertips beneath the band of her knickers to get to the crease of her pussy. 

She hummed again at the contact, causing her throat to buzz around him and he gulped down the loud moan that threatened to escape his lips.

He flicked his finger over her crease twice then three times before delving experimentally into her tight channel. God how was it that her cunt was warmer and wetter than her mouth?

She bucked against his hand, begging for more contact, he withdrew his hand briefly, and pressed into her adding a second finger.

She squeezed her thighs together clenching around his fingers showcasing the delights that awaited him when they arrived back at her flat. 

Something had to change soon or he was going to lose himself in her mouth in the back of this cab, and although the situation had it's merits, it wasn't exactly ideal. He was not ready to be finished with Molly quite yet. 

"Close, Molly." He mumbled as quietly as he could. "Mmm" she nodded in agreement, still lapping and bobbing, giving his bollocks another tug, more firmly this time.

"Ah god! No, I mean we're nearly to your flat." He whispered hoarsely, gently pulling up on her neck in order to intimate his desire for her to stop. She slowly pulled up his length sucking him hard against the roof of her mouth giving his head a final swirl before releasing him fully.

He exhaled deeply, drawing breath as if it was the first time since she started. And she took the fingers that had been inside her in her small hands, sniffing them. "Oh I smell delicious on you." She whispered. 

He looked on helpless as her tongue darted past those petal shaped lips and ran teasingly over each finger. "Tastes good too." She sucked his fingers clean and he whimpered, eyes fixed on her.

His cock twitched at the sight and another pearl of his precum wept down the underside of his exposed prick. She sat upright and ran her finger up his length, gathering his semen on her fingertip as if scooping frosting from a cake. 

With a wicked grin, she made him watch as she took her own sticky finger and sucked it clean of his seed. She closed her eyes and moaned with an expression of ecstasy. "Oh but I think you taste so much better." She whispered. 

Sherlock bit his lip and looked at her with a pure unadulterated desire that took, even him, by surprise. He could not fathom wanting her any more than he already had. But now that want had shifted into a frenzied need that threatened to boil over inside him. 

"Why, Doctor Hooper I think you very well may be the devil." His voice was hoarse and strained. 

"Oh Mr. Holmes..." She purred into his ear as she lovingly tucked him back into his trousers, "You have no idea."

The cab came to a halt and Sherlock scrambled to exit the cab, throwing entirely too much money at the driver.

Molly remained seated on her side, waiting as he came around the back of the car to open the door for her. She reached out her hand and allowed him to politely ease her to her feet and shut the door behind her.

"You're such a good boy, Sherlock." She praised him for his chivalry. Primly she looped her arm around his. "I think you deserve a treat, don't you?" 

"Yes please." He almost begged. His knees wobbled slightly as they walked, she'd already practically reduced him to putty in the backseat.

He was worried he'd never be able to get in another cab again without being half hard from the memory of tonight. 

The lingering scent of her on his hand, the sway of her hips, the press of her breast against his arm and his unflagging erection were a promissary note of more delectable memories to be made. 

It was indeed his birthday and he was more than ready to unwrap his gift. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry everyone! I'm such a tease! But wouldn't you rather have two long hot chapters than just one? I don't want to skimp on the sweet stuff so you'll get more later. Promise!


	5. Feels Like the First Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock finally gets to unwrap his gift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finally here! Sorry to make you all wait so long. I really hope I made it worth your while. I was thinking of making this into a series. Thoughts? Special thanks to Benedicted_Cumberbatched for all the virtual hand-holding she had to give me when I struggled through this chapter.

They walked arm in arm toward her building until they reached the entrance. Molly stepped in front of him to fish her keys from her oversized purse. It was taking entirely too long for either of their liking and Sherlock was displaying his impatience by pressing himself against her back, breathing in the scent of her hair and trailing his hands over her body.

Molly found this extremely distracting while she fumbled around in her purse, finally grasping her keys, then promptly dropping them at her feet when she felt Sherlock brush her backside with his erection. 

He took advantage of her position while she leaned down to pick them up to grasp her by the hips and grind against her heated mound. 

She nearly dropped them a second time but clutched them tightly. Rising to her full height she leaned back against him and lifted her hand to run her fingers through his hair from behind her while he worked her neck with his lips and continued grinding against her.

She let out a breathy sigh while his hands wandered. His left roamed over her breasts and dove over the neckline of her strapless bodice and cupping her right breast, pinching and teasing her taught nipple, discovering, to their mutual delight, that she had forgone the usual undergarment. 

She arched her back pressing into his hand, turning her face to nuzzle the side of his neck. 

"You wicked thing." She murmured into his ear. "I can't take you anywhere." 

"Mmm" he agreed, gliding his right palm up her thigh and under her skirt, unerringly finding her clit and rubbing his middle finger against it lightly over her knickers. 

"Careful" she warned, voice airy and strained with desire. "Don't start what you can't finish, Sherlock. I _will_ take down your trousers and ride your cock right on these steps. Is that what you want?" 

He groaned as she gripped his bulge through his trousers and bucked into her hand. 

"Is. That. What. You. Want?" She gripped him more firmly punctuating each word with a squeeze to his aching member. 

His head fell back and he nearly drew blood biting his lip to stifle his growl of frustration.

"Open the door, please hurry." He begged, leaning his forehead into the back of her neck. She felt his hot breath ragged against her hair.

"I don't know..." She teased. "Maybe I should make you wake Mrs. Dunham to buzz us in. Make you tell her what a naughty boy you're being." 

Without another word Sherlock leaned passed her pressing the buzzer to Molly's elderly neighbor's flat. Molly squeaked in surprise at his calling her bluff. She hid her face in embarrassment as the old woman's voice croaked over the intercom. 

"Yes? Hello?"

"So sorry to bother you again, Mrs. Dunham. But I've been naughty. Very, very bad and now Molly seems to be having difficulty with her keys. Could you please buzz us in?" He asked, charmingly but shooting wicked glances over toward the blushing Molly.

"Is that you, Sherlock?" She grumbled sleepily but with no trace of anger. 

"Yes, ma'am." He answered warmly. 

"I really must have a word with her about getting you a spare key." She sighed. 

"Thank you. Please do." He said huskily nuzzling against Molly's neck as the buzzer sounded.

He held the door open for her, urging her to enter, guiding her by the small of her back. She stopped at the bottom of the stairwell and turned to face him still blown over with disbelief. He smirked as she stood aghast. "Elderly women love me." Explained with a shrug and quirked an eyebrow up at her in a gesture that was, by some miracle of modern science, simultaneously gorgeous and goofy.  

"I don't know what I expected." Molly sighed. "Of course you just did that, you're shameless!" She was tugging him up the stairs toward her flat behind her by the band of his trousers. 

Sherlock was confused. This was the second time tonight he'd been accused of being shameless. He dismissed it immediately. Clearly ordinary people spend entirely too much time indulging in useless feelings of shame.

Molly was not ordinary, but seemed to be unaware of that fact. She was brilliant, talented and, as he recently discovered, extremely sexy.

He'd always known she was attractive, but he had not been aware of her more alluring vixen qualities. If he had anything to be ashamed of, it was how long it took him to allow their relationship to reach this point. 

He could have had Molly dragging him to her flat by his trousers years ago. However, he had no way of knowing that he wouldn't have had to navigate the tedious maze of conventional courtship and confusing social mores. He hadn't known that, for him, all it would have taken for their relationship to reach it's next logical phase was to relent to it. 

But then again, that may not have been the case all those years ago. They'd been through so much together since that time. By merely existing in his life, he'd been saved by her twice.

He'd invaded nearly every aspect of her life and never once took liberties in this area, although she clearly offered it, without pressure or even an understanding of mutual incentive. 

She offered herself wholly and without reservation to him, only to him. She always had. Even when, for all intents and purposes, she belonged to someone else. Even if he were to walk away now and feign coldness and indifference, although hurt, she would remain his. 

It was quite sad, actually. But he was not sad for her. He could never pity her for being better than him at something. No, rather he took a moment to indulge in a bit of self-pity. Here had been this beautiful gift that read "To Sherlock, love Molly xxx" and he had denied it, pushed it away. He'd insulted and humiliated her, made her feel unwanted and undeserving. Just so he could live in some sort of bubble of ascetic self-denial that only ever offered an illusory and ephemeral happiness. 

And not happiness really per se', but a cog in the machine where he could feel like he fit. That his movements were integral to a greater machination. Where he could give in to the fantasy of higher purpose.

What higher purpose could exist beyond being happy with yourself and the people around you? Knowing that your presence made them happy too? 

John had been the first to show him that. Being someone's best friend. Being something in another's life whose loss was sorely missed and bitterly grieved was not something he felt he would ever do.

It was never for him to have before John. 

Maybe that's what always drew him to the 'side of the angels', as Moriarty put it. Not out of some misguided hope that he could ever _be_ one, but his choice was to serve justice and order rather than criminal pursuits. Perhaps because on some level he understood that justice and order merely existed to ensure the safety of the things in life that matter.  

Molly mattered. Molly mattered most of all. He'd confessed as much already. He was ready to prove it and he dared to hope she was ready to believe him. It's not as if he would blame her if she didn't. He had spent the bulk of their relationship manipulating her and throwing out mixed signals to keep her at arm's length. It was so much easier to indulge in ridiculous priorities before the fall, before two years in exile dismantling Moriarty's network, and then that regrettable Magnusson business.

It didn't take long to occur to him that his meddling in that business only made things worse for everyone. Had he simply looked the other way Mary could have killed him and that would've been the end of it. He's thought a lot about it since returning from his 4 minute long exile to Serbia. He came to realize that his failure lie in his inability to account for variables. Molly was the variable that Moriarty failed to account for, and the crux of his downfall. Sherlock would not be making the same mistake. 

No, he needed to keep her close. Especially now that her ability to surprise has painted a target on her back. 

 

* * *

 

Cool hands curling in his hair and warm fragrant skin against his face welcomed him out of his thoughts. He found himself on Molly's sofa being cradled soothingly into her chest and the dulcet vibrato of her hum beneath his cheek ceasing as he took stock of his new surroundings. 

"There you are." She exclaimed happily as she saw the light of familiarity return to his eyes. "Where did you go?" She smiled, kissing his temple sweetly.

She'd removed their coats, jackets and scarves, even shoes. Making him quite at home as she allowed him to lay above her, breathing her in while he was lost inside his mind.

He repositioned himself so he could look at her directly. Usually when this happened, he found himself alone. This particular quality of his was difficult for people to understand. 

Especially since the moments prior were very passionate, he knew anyone else would be hurt or offended by his need to shut down and process. 

For the first time ever, he returned to comfort and understanding.

He smiled and nuzzled the space between her breasts. "I was in your room. In my mind palace." He began tugging her bodice down to expose more flesh to his attentions. He walked a hand up her side until he reached a bare breast. 

Molly shuddered lightly at his touch. "I've a room in your mind palace?" She bit her lip to suppress a flattered smile. 

"Yes. For now." He said before swirling a nipple with his tongue and taking it into his mouth. Molly arched into his touch and he flicked over the pebbled nub expertly causing her to gasp and tangle her fingers in his curls. 

"I expect I'll be building a second room soon." He grazed his teeth over her nipple before he spoke. "A lot of new data to collate and file away for future review." 

Molly's heart thundered in her chest at his words. These were the Sherlock Holmes equivalent of reciting love sonnets. 

"I could dedicate an entire wing to these breasts." He murmured into her sternum, as he moved down her torso. Both of his warm hands claiming her mounds, kneading them gently with his long, clever fingers.

"Mmm, so now you have a relevant opinion on them?" She teased rolling her hips under him as his cheek brushed her pubis. He brushed the area between her thighs with his nose, smiling into the fabric of her skirt.

"Don't be stupid, Molly." He spoke into her heated mound. She felt his voice rumble directly through her causing her breath to catch in her chest. 

"I always have a relevant opinion. It's the timing of my opinions that vary in relevance." His hands moved from her breasts down to the skirt of her dress, grabbing handfuls of the material, pushing it up to expose her damp panties. 

Goosebumps raised over her upper thighs, causing a shiver to crawl up her spine. he curled a finger under the crotch of her knickers and pulled the material away, down her thighs until they were low enough for her to kick away altogether.  

"Mmm I'm forming some opinions now." Molly felt his hot breath on her folds as he parted her labia majora delicately with his thumbs.

Molly groaned and pulled her knees up, opening herself to him further. He reached for a pillow and she lifted her bottom to allow him to slip it underneath her. This position gave him the best view of her, and he took his time in appreciating it. Taking in the sight of her pearlescent pink folds like one would take in the sight of a sunset. He was absolutely awestruck.

"My... god!" He exclaimed. The pink of her folds almost perfectly matched the pink of her dress, the same pink as spun sugar, glistening with her arousal. Her aroma was warm and spicy like a home filled with the smell of fresh baking, and it made his mouth water. 

"May I taste you?" He asked looking at her eagerly. Molly giggled at his prim question. As if she'd ever not let him.

She rucked her skirt higher up her waist so as to not obstruct her sight of him. "Help yourself." She offered, spreading her knees further apart in welcome. 

He closed his eyes and released a staggered breath before closing his lips over her enthusiastically. He lapped hungrily at her opening while gently circling the seat of her arousal with his nose. He surrounded her hips with his outstretched arms. Grasping her waist with his firm hands he held her in place, unrelenting in his ministrations.  

Molly keened, head reeling back, she curled her toes into the cushion of her sofa. Taking his hair roughly in her fists, she rocked her hips against him. 

If the sight of him wasn't sinful enough, his eyes narrowed at her in devilish delight. The sounds he made were absolutely profane as he devoured her thoroughly. He whimpered helplessly and groaned his approval with each of her rough tugs on his scalp. 

He worked upward toward her bud, brushing her opening with his fingers. Two fingers dove into her heat at the same moment his mouth closed over her clit. His lips made filthy smacking noises as he worked her over with his mouth timing his thrusts with the run of his tongue. 

Molly bucked hard, raising her legs higher involuntarily, she rested her feet on his shoulders and dug into him with her heels. She gave his hair another rough pull. 

"Fuck! Sherlock, don't stop. I'm so close!" She was rocking faster steering him where she wanted him by his hair. He loved how aggressive she was, how wild and uninhibited she was letting herself be for him. 

He raised his head, replacing his lips with the thumb of his free hand. He wanted to watch her. He needed to see  what she looked like when she broke apart. 

Sherlock curled his fingers to press into her g-spot while the fingers of his other hand massaged the top of her mound, increasing the pressure while maintaining a quick pace against her clit with rapid strokes of his thumb. 

She held on, letting the pressure build in her abdomen until it overpowered her and she lost her grip on reality. She cried out long and ragged, shuddering through the waves of her orgasm. 

He was captivated by the sight of her thrashing and groaning, yanking his head back by the curls at his nape. He couldn't escape the sight of her even of he wanted to. 

She sighed through the final quakes of her completion, loosening her grip in his hair, running them sweetly over his scalp indulging in the sight of him. He looked wrecked, hair a mess, and lips swollen red. His face shone with the evidence of his thorough attentions. Grinning like a mad god.  

The look of him in this moment made her ache with arousal. Even in the fallout of the orgasm he'd just given her, she wanted more of him. She pushed him upright swinging her leg over so she was straddling his lap.

She was kissing him furiously, tasting herself on his tongue when he opened beneath her and deepened the kiss. He ran his fingers through the silken tresses of her hair with one hand while finding the zipper at her back with the other. 

He lowered it slowly, taking time to soak in the feel of her satiny skin under his calloused palms, bit by bit as more flesh was bared. When he lowered it completely he retreated from her kiss, watching as he pulled the material up and over her raised arms.

She was bare to him completely, sat in his lap like a shiny new toy on Christmas. All he wanted to do was touch her, caress every centimeter of her, learn her body like an instrument. 

It occurred to him when she leaned forward to nip at his neck and unbutton his shirt that she might be having similar thoughts about him. For some reason that unsettled him a bit but allowed Molly to take his hands in hers. 

She held his hand against her cheek and kissed his palm while she undid the cuffs at his left, then right wrists. Not even a moment later she had his shirt off and laid delicately over the back of the sofa.

She took time to admire the topography of his chest, her lower lip quivering slightly when she came upon the scar the bullet hole left in chest above his heart. Just the tiniest bit further down and he'd have been taken from her forever. 

It was dark pink and nearly completely healed. Soon it would be a barely visible mar on the alabaster expanse of his torso. But now it stood out against his pale flesh like a traffic light.

She touched it very lightly, it was the size of the tip of her pointer finger. Then she kissed it and kissed it over and over. Willing it to go away if she could just kiss it enough times. Tears pricked her eyes but she fought them back. 

"It's okay."  He whispered. "I'm here. It's okay." She looked up from his chest and took him in a desperate claiming kiss. He was there. And, at least for now, it _was_ okay. Even with the threat of Moriarty's supposed return looming over their heads, they had now and that was enough. 

Molly saw enough death to know tomorrow was never a promise for anyone. She would let fears of the future go for the sake of the present. 

She lowered her hands down to the the fastener of his trousers and he froze, but didn't stop her. She took his trouser and pants down at the same time, sliding off his lap to pull them over and off his ankles.

She drew her eyes up the long, lean expanse of him. Taking in every part of him from his feet, the otherworldly paleness of him, the Raphael-esque pose he'd fallen into. His head was turned and supported by his fist against his forehead. His eyes were tightly shut and refused to look at her when he was finally completely nude. He was trembling and looked almost frightened to be laid bare to her scrutiny. Even in his vulnerability he was exquisite. 

"Sherlock?" Her voice carried worry. "Are you...? We can stop if you want-"

"No!" He interjected immediately. "Please no. I just need a moment to... Reorient. New information, new stimulus... It's a bit overwhelming... I'm sorry-"

"Please don't apologize. It's alright. Do you need me to go until you're Uhm... Ready?" She asked her voice was tender and compassionate and it made his heart lurch in his chest. 

"No, please stay. Can you? Can we lay like we were before?" He asked, eyes still averted. 

"Yes. Yes of course! But Uhm... Come with me." She reached her hand out to him. "It will be better, trust me." She pulled him to his feet and lead him by his hands to her darkened bedroom his eyes fiercely trained on her feet in front of him. He followed behind her without question. She asked him to trust her and trusting her was something he'd always do. 

 

* * *

 

 

Only a small stream of yellow light from the street lamps outside filtered through the drapes. The lessening of sensory input from the darkness put him more at ease. 

This is why he trusted her. She understood him in a way that was completely unique to anyone else in his life. 

She climbed into the middle of her bed, reclining against her pillows and reaching to him in invitation. He accepted, shambling over her to cuddle against her chest, inhaling her scent, which now mingled with sweat and his own pheromones. He settled his face between her breasts and listened to the steady rhythm of her breathing. Almost perfect, but something was still missing.

"What was the song you were humming before? Could you? Will you?" He didn't even have to get out his full thought before she carded her fingers through his hair and started humming the same song as before, only this time murmuring the lyrics. 

_Stars shining bright above you. Night breezes seem to whisper 'I love you'. Birds singing in the sycamore tree. Dream a little dream of me._

He exhaled deeply and eased, as if melting into her. 

_Say nighty-night and kiss me. Just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me. While I'm alone and blue as can be. Dream a little dream of me._

He nuzzled against her breastbone and let his hands roam up her arms, brushing the curve of her neck with his fingertips. His eyes were still tightly shut but his trembling slowed to small, dying waves. 

_Stars fading but I linger on, dear. Still craving your kiss. I'm longing to linger 'til dawn, dear just saying this._

He sighed out the last of his tension, reveling in the sensation of her sweet, warm voice enveloping him in the cool quiet dark of the room.

_Sweet dreams 'til sunbeams find you. Sweet dreams that leave your worries far behind you._

He felt safe with her. He felt the rest of the world fall away and all that remained was their skin pressed together in the soft dark of the room and the vibration of her voice against his face and drifting the winding corridors of his mind palace.

He followed the dulcet tones that hung around him like the aroma of leather-bound books, honeysuckles and warm cinnamon. It felt like home and he let it take him down and around through his mind palace. Then up and up until he was back in her arms warm and comfortable. 

_But in your dreams, whatever they be, dream a little dream of me._

When she finished her song he lifted his head to kiss her throat. The part of her he felt he loved best now. 

"Thank you." He whispered between kisses. "Thank you." He sat up, gathering her in his arms and cradling her head in his hands.

She looped her legs around his waist bringing their cores achingly close to one another. Sherlock was suddenly fully back in his body and painfully aware that he's been at full mast since the cab. He hadn't been this hard for this long since the frenzy of his addiction.

For him, sex and drugs were inextricably linked. The routine had always been: speedball heroin and cocaine and engage in hours of boring, mechanical fucking with someone he'd pulled from a party. It's all you really can do when your brain is in a haze from the heroin and your body is a livewire from the cocaine. 

He'd never had sex while not completely bent out of his mind, and hadn't had sex since before his third stint in rehab. These were the thoughts his mind was throwing at him in order to convince him to run far and fast before he crosses a line that can't be uncrossed.

He doesn't do this, he can't do this. Not with Molly. Not with a woman whose eyes were bright with awareness and not muddled in a haze of drugs and sadness.

He had something to offer those women, they knew what they were in for when they were with him. They didn't want him, they wanted to use him to drive away the demons that snapped at their heels, to grant them a temporary reprieve, an illusion of being wanted and belonging. He knew that's what they were using him for because that's what he was using them for too. That deduction was always confirmed by the hauntingly quiet mornings-after. Air thick in his lungs with the stench of sex, stale cigarettes and something akin to regret. He would look away while they gathered themselves together and walk out. 

But then there she was, moving up and down his body, her warm folds sliding down the length of him, drizzling a trail of her arousal on his straining flesh. She was teasing him out of his mind with her body, beckoning him to be present, to give her this moment. Her breasts were at eye level. He looked up at her and she flashed him a wanton smile, arching her back to deliberately brush his lips with her nipples as if to say "come out and play". He obliged taking one of the rosey nipples into his mouth and sucked tenderly.

His hind-brain took over causing an involuntary forward jerk of his hips and he was done for. Any chance of walking away evaporated that instant and he began rolling his hips, while kneading the globes of her arse, reaching for contact with her hot sex. 

She gasped as his head brushed the seam of her pussy again and again. She was in awe of his abandon. Their position was not favorable for him to simply slide into her. The way her hips were angled over his thighs she would have to initiate penetration. It was then he realized he wanted her to be the one to make the breech. He was done running from her, he wanted to release, to collide with her. 

"Molly... Please." He gasped when she dipped her hips forward just far enough for the head of his cock to nudge her opening. "Ah you bloody tease!" He choked out when she did it again. 

"What do you need, Sherlock?" Molly purred against his lips before taking his bottom lip between her teeth and grinding against him again. She would give him what he wanted, but she wanted to hear him say it. 

"Inside you- please! Ahhh!" He felt the press of her body and she opened to him, slowly in and in until he was fully seated inside her. He let out a deep breath as a wave of satisfaction washed over him. She took him. Being sound of mind, she wanted to let him in and share her body and dwell in her space. 

She took a moment to luxuriate in the feel of him filling her and it it allowed him time to adjust to the new sensation of being inside her. She counted breaths while he shivered under her, fully prepared to let him have whatever time he needed. If the stimulus of just being naked in front of each other was overwhelming to him, she couldn't imagine what this might be like.

It took less time than she ever could have guessed, after just a moment his head craned forward and rested on her collarbone and his grip on her hips tightened. She took his cue and began to move, setting a sweet languid pace.

He shivered every time she brought herself down around him and lifted his hips in time with her. His breathing was ragged with staggered gasps.

Her head fell back as she grew impatient with the gentle give and take they had established, his stable breathing pattern indicated he was thinking the same.  She teetered forward using all her weight to force him onto his back and rode him in earnest.

He called out with surprise, the change of position allowed for him to penetrate her deeper, but he could barely keep up when she snapped her hips against him at a breakneck pace. He barely found the time to breathe when the sound of wet slapping and her sweet mewling noises surrounded him.

She ground out a groan and he understood immediately what that meant. She was close again. He put his hands down in the bed, palms flat beside his hips so he could leverage himself upward, meeting her thrust for thrust with powerful pistoning motions. 

"Yes, Sherlock! That's so good. You're so good." She babbled while leaning back slightly to brace her hands on his upper thighs, tits bouncing in time with the meeting of their bodies.

He grasped her by the hips once again, rearing back he thrust up so hard she bounced up and he pulled her roughly down around him again causing his pelvis to bump against her clit. That was it for Molly, she came shouting.

He nearly choked, his throat burning with his own thwarted scream while her smooth channel pulsed and clung to him. He struggled against it, grasping at whatever he could get his hands around, her hair, her shoulders, he moved his hands down and pressed his fingers into her hips with bruising force trying to escape the sensation chiseling against his resolve. She was over him, he felt trapped and out of control. He tried to crawl away from the sweet oblivion that threatened to swallow him. 

She looked down at him, eyes soft with understanding rather than anger. She lifted off of him and he sat up. Finishing inside her was too much, too intimate, without the barrier of drugs fogging his mind enough to let his baser instincts drive him to rut into her like a beast, pump her full of his come and scatter like a frightened animal.

He didn't want to do that. He wanted to be here with her. But without the drugs, his defenses were down and all the goblins of neurosis in his brain began warring for territory. _You don't do this. You can't do this. Not your area. Failure imminent. Retreat immediately._

His mind snatched toward him to drag him in and hide, but the intensity of sex kept him staked to his body urging him to take her, to finish this. He couldn't get the two in alignment and chaos swirled inside him until-

"Shhhhh" she hushed him sweetly, fingertips drifting over his forehead. She swept her palm over his eyes, still shushing softly. He shut his eyes and to his great surprise everything was quiet again.

Shielded by the dark curtain of silence in his mind, he tracked a pinpoint of light that glowed brighter and brighter as he felt her take his heavy cock, still slick from her wetness, and stroked him delicately. Pumping away at the deluge inside him. The glow he felt behind his eyes burst into a nebula and she pulled him over the edge into his release. 

She carried him through it, coaxing out streams of his ejaculate, painting her chest and belly with his seed. His mouth fell open and he breathed through his completion with her name on his lips. So very unlike the helpless sensation of falling and scattering to useless bits every other orgasm of his life had brought him. This time he felt as though he'd been taken by the hand as he dove into a warm wave, circling inside it gently before being carried back to familiar shores.    

The sight that greeted him when he opened his eyes was a thing of unspeakable beauty. She was almost ethereal in the muted light of the room, pearls of his come dripping over her decolletage and she bore it proudly. She was glowing with the sweat of their congress and thin tendrils of hair clung to the sides of her neck and face. She looked like a mermaid. He was a drowning man and she swam him back to safety.

He blinked and when his eyes opened, to his surprise she was still there, his siren, calling him toward the familiar cove of her embrace. He fell onto her, uncaring of the fact that she was sticky with his seed. It didn't matter, he belonged there.

"Can it always be like this?" He whispered into her throat as he held onto her desperately, as if he thought she would evaporate into thin air. There was a terrifyingly long pause before she took his chin in her hand and gave him a tender, merciful kiss.

"Yes. Always."  She whispered back against his lips.

Suddenly, his kiss turned ravenous and he claimed her mouth again and again, exploring her, tasting her. He broke away briskly, sitting upright he pulled her down by her ankle until she was flush on her back and he was over her, stroking and kissing on fire with lust.

Her squeaks and giggles of delight rounded off into breathy moans as she found him pressing inside her again, gently. They laughed and groaned and spent themselves in their joined bodies for a second, and third time over the course of that night before exhaustion finally took them both. They fell into deep dreamless sleep, their bodies tangled never breaking contact.

He awoke to the sun warming his face and sweet delicious memories dancing across his rested mind. He shifted from his side to his back as he reviewed the information of the last 24 hours. Molly shifted to rest her head on his chest and she let out a contented sigh as he ran his fingers through her hair.

Yes, he was sure. This had been his best birthday ever.         

 

 


	6. It had to be you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morning after. Addam's Family pillow talk. Spooning leads to forking. Save water, shower together. And all the feels you can handle.

The sun streamed yellow light into the bedroom, Sherlock stirred awake taking in the sight of the room in the cold light of day. The room was warm and cheerful with soft yellow walls and white lace curtains.

He saw the reflection of the wrought iron headboard behind him in her vanity mirror. And smirked to himself at how he and Molly had made good use of it in one of their four encounters the previous night. A frisson jolting down his spine at the images his perfect mind conjured.

Molly, however, was resolutely _not_ awake. Although he'd taken to caressing her body with his fingertips. Goosebumps rose up on her skin and occasionally shifted from his touch. After a moment he gave up and decided to let her sleep.

At first he was content to simply lay beside her recounting the previous night. Mentally checking off all the positions he'd had her in, cataloguing the sounds she'd made, and all the sounds she had him make. The beautiful agony of her expression as she came around him. 

He repositioned himself closer toward the edge of the bed. With one hand propped under his head and the other draped lazily across his abdomen. The hand in his hair found tender spots on his scalp where she had abused him so deliciously. 

Oh dear. He was getting himself worked up.

He spared a glance at Molly laying beside him and smirked.

She was sprawled in a deep sleep, both arms tossed above her head, legs spread so far that even though he'd migrated to his own side of the bed while he slept, one of her legs was twined over his thigh ending in a foot hooked around his calf.

He took time to enjoy the view, with her breasts on prominent display, lips parted and still beestung from thorough use her hair fanned out behind her. His eyes followed down the spans of her torso to where the white sheet lazily covered her sex. 

She was otherworldly.

The duvet had been kicked to the foot of the bed at some point during their activities and only the sheet remained, draped haphazardly over her lower half but only successfully covering one leg, teasing him with the sight of her creamy flesh. 

He couldn't help himself, he curled toward her and ran his hands over her body, nuzzling into her neck. She shifted to her side, and he took advantage of her new position to press his form against her back.

She fit perfectly in the curve of his torso. He parted her thighs with his knees as he settled deeper into the position. "Molly." he whispered in her ear and she groaned in response. He shifted against her, his hardening cock pressing insistently against the small of her back. 

"Molly" He whispered again, tracing the shell of her ear with his nose before taking her earlobe between his teeth and grazing it lightly. Molly squirmed a bit, giggling softly in her sleep at his attentions but still stubbornly remaining asleep.

He began kissing her neck, nibbling and sucking dark marks in the curve where her neck meets her shoulder while his hands left hot trails over her body. 

"mmm" Molly murmured and turned toward him "again?" She spoke against his chest, hand drifting between them to curl his swelling member into her hand lightly. He nodded enthusiastically.

"How do you have any fluid left in your body?" Molly asked half-jokingly but also truly curious.

He hissed and bucked into her hand, before smiling coyly. "Apres moi, le deluge" He chuckled softly into her hair. Despite his desire for her his eyes shone with mirth and he grinned smugly.

Molly chuckled and swung her leg over his hips, straddling him, taking both his hands in hers, lacing her fingers in his.

"Cara mia..." Molly spoke into the crook of his arm as she pressed kisses upward. "You spoke French." She affected a silly accent and kissed the length of his arm to his collarbone.

When she reached his neck she looked up to see his eyes narrowed at her in annoyance. What was she thinking? He probably didn't get the reference. Even if he had he wouldn't find it amusing. She bit her lip wincing up at him awaiting his callous order to not make jokes. 

"Sorry, just...being silly." She started to stammer, blushing.

Oh how quickly we return to form, even fully nude with him pinned under her she was still blushing like a schoolgirl. 

Sherlock found this incredibly adorable.

"Yes. Very silly." He agreed rolling over, taking her with him, bracketing her body with his legs. "If we're playing 'Addams Family' _I'm_ Gomez." He stated.

Molly let out a giddy giggle of surprise when she realized he understood the reference before Sherlock's attentions to her erogenous zones made her lose her concentration. She wrapped her legs around his waist and sighed as she let herself sink further beneath him.

"Although, if you think about it." Molly spoke softly, shivering slightly as he teased her with his breath on her skin. "You've a lot in common with Morticia." He stopped his movements briefly, narrowing his eyes at her before prompting her to go on to state her case. 

"Oh just look at you with your cheekbones and your skin tight black suits, your shirts unbuttoned, showcasing a frankly sinful amount of your chest. Quietly seductive. Near constant eye-fucking. You're what Morticia would look like as a man." 

He'd already kissed his way down her breastbone and was poised to choose a breast to take into his mouth when the last line struck him and he gave her a withering look.

He looked up at her from between her breasts, massaging them with his hands, rolling her nipples between his fingers. "You're a soft-spoken willowy woman with long straight hair that works in a morgue. 'Morticia' has been your nickname since you chose to study pathology at Uni. _You're_  Morticia." He insisted.

"How did you know my uni nickname?" Molly asked with just the barest hint of incredulity. Sherlock rolled his eyes at her question. Of course he knew. He'd probably deduced it ages ago from something ridiculously minor. 

But instead he answered, "Some of your work mates still call you that behind your back." He stated without any qualms about admitting he'd learned a fact about her from so banal a source.

"Damn, I thought I'd lived that down by now." She said airily, arching against his mouth. "But I suppose I can live with it if you're my Gomez."

"Hmmm let's think about this, shall we? Gomez is... Handsome...Well dressed..." He kissed down her torso "worldly... Suave..." Lower and lower he kissed just past her navel now.  "Constantly desirous of his Morticia." He reached the apex of her thighs, brushing her curls with his nose.

"I think I meet the necessary requirements. Don't you?" And with that he gave her folds a long teasing lick. 

She let out a strangled gasp as he continued his toe-curling ministrations, lapping delicately at her sensitive folds. Atoning for any rough use she might have endured at his eager hands. 

"Am I your Gomez, Morticia?" He asked in that seductive baritone he knew drove her wild. 

She huffed a bit as he wrenched a few groans of pleasure from her before gasping out a hoarse whisper.

"Oui." She gave her assent breathily.

"Oh cara mia..." He groaned before pulling her legs over his shoulders to dive into her heat and devour her thoroughly. He stroked the outside of her thighs lightly with his fingertips, causing her to squirm against him in a way he found delightful. 

He continued to tickle her as he laved his tongue over her folds. She giggled and bucked in between deep groans of pleasure.

Somehow she managed to wriggle out of his grasp, rolling over and crawling toward the headboard to escape the tickling. 

She crawled toward the headboard, rising up on her knees, she looped her fingers around the wrought iron filigree of her headboard. She arched her back seductively, to look back at him on his knees, watching her through his eyelashes. 

He sprung up like a viper and threw his arms around her hips pulling her toward him so he could brush her heat with the head of his member before entering her in a single thrust. The next half hour was spent wearing out their knees while her bed creaked to the rhythm of their abandon.

 

* * *

 

Molly was in the kitchen after using the loo. Sherlock went in after her to complete his morning ablutions.

She gulped down her second glass of water as she heard the shower come on. Did she even have any clean towels? 

Today was the day she meant to do laundry and wasn't certain she had any clean towels left. She rushed to her linen closet and pawed through it only discovering that it was void of any towels.

She sighed before remembering she had placed a stash of towels in the guest room from the last time Sherlock had taken a kip at her flat. He hadn't stayed long enough to use them and they'd lay there forgotten all that time. She gathered two in her arms before strolling into the bathroom. 

She considered the protocol as she stood in front of the bathroom door. Was she meant to knock? Technically, she knew she was supposed to but they'd spent the last 10 hours nude and a good portion of that time he'd spent actually inside her body. Were they past such formalities?

She debated back and forth in front of the door before she heard him call her name, making her jolt.

"Molly."

She cracked the door open a bit, not looking. "Need something, Sherlock?"  

"You were pacing in front of the door for several minutes. Just come in, you're being ridiculous." 

She ducked her head, blushing slightly, feeling a bit silly after all. She draped the towels over the bar, still nude and filthy from before. Two arms jutted out from behind the shower curtain and she squealed as he pulled her into the shower with him. 

"Sherlock!" Molly squeaked. 

"You were oscillating outside the door, clearly you were contemplating joining me. Besides, you brought two towels." He reasoned. He rumbled in her ear causing her to shiver and grin. 

Turned her so she was directly beneath the spray, reaching behind her he plucked her large sponge from the shower caddy. He held it to his nose, inhaling it's scent.

"Oh this little beauty." He murmured.

It was a spa quality sea sponge she had spent entirely too much money on, but it felt luxurious. Although it was an impulse buy, it turned out to be well worth it.

"You'll never know how many times I've stood in this shower imagining all the places on your body it's been." He flipped up the cap of her brown sugar body scrub, squeezing a liberal amount onto the sponge. 

He pushed her hair off of her shoulders and began kissing her neck while he gently scrubbed her stomach and between her breasts. She arched against him trailing her fingers through his sopping curls that were dripping against her shoulder. 

"You're so creepy." She smirked, whispering huskily. 

He chuckled. "This is the time you choose to point that out? Not any of the times I've begged you for human remains or coerced you into helping me with experiments? Or that 'creeping' is literally part of my job description?" He spoke against her skin.

Molly's laughter echoed against the tiles and she turned so her chest was pressed against his front.

"Creepy is good. I like creepy." She pressed kisses to his collarbone. "I just wasn't expecting such a personal confession."

Sherlock pulled his eyebrows together in thought. "Isn't that people do when they're...?" He paused, searching for the correct term.

Molly's breath caught. Was he really about to define this... whatever this was?

"Pair-bonded."

Molly wrinkled her nose as she quirked a smile. "Pair-bonded?" She quoted back to him raising a questioning brow.

"Yes. Of course." He said smugly. "Obviously." He reached for Molly's shampoo, pumping it into his hand and massaging into her scalp. 

"You make it sound so Darwinian." She sighed, swaying and leaning into his touch.

"Appropriate, don't you think?" He nudged her back a step, beneath the spray and rinsed her hair, threading his fingers through it and watching the foam of the soap slide down her body into the floor of the tub.

"Survival of the fittest." His hands roamed her body until the found the cleft of her nether lips, insinuating his middle finger between them, brushing her flesh with careful, light strokes.

"Origin of species." He swirled over her opening and flicked her clit with his thumb. She trembled against his hand.

He adored torturing her. He was getting her back for the way she had him melting into jelly in the back of the cab, en route to her flat the night before. 

She wasn't having it. Determined to return to the business of showering she rallied her self-control, batting his hand away and savoring his pout.

Ducking her chin, she looked up at him with a seductive expression. She twirled her index finger in his face to indicate she wanted him to turn around so she could begin washing him.

"Your turn, Sherlock. It may be a fool's errand but I would like to get you clean." From the corner of his eye he saw her pick up her shampoo bottle and his shoulders slumped ever so lightly. 

She paused a moment, the replaced the bottle in the shower caddy, pulling back the curtain abruptly, she stepped out of the shower. He watched as she exited worried he may have upset her somehow. "Molly-"

"This won't work." She called behind her.

She walked out of the bathroom, leaving the door open. He could see clouds of steam roll out the opening in waves.

He considered what he'd said or done to provoke this reaction before he heard a drawer open and she returned with a small black leather case and shut the door behind her.

An instant later he recognized it as the dopp kit he began keeping in her flat after she helped him fake his death. He'd used it during his hiding and the times he used her flat as his bolt hole. From inside she pulled out a small bottle of shampoo, his brand. 

He smirked when he finally put together what she meant "This won't work." She was referring to her shampoo. She was quite right. Molly has very straight, fine textured hair. She uses an extra gentle organic shampoo meant for babies that she buys from a specialty baby store. It wouldn't do a thing for his thick, curly hair.  

"You still have this?" A rhetorical question yes, but the fact of it made his chest swell. 

"Of course. I never know when you'll come round... Even when Tom found it I couldn't let him throw it out. That argument was the coffin nail in that relationship." Her tone was low and serious but she busied herself by pouring his shampoo into her palm before working it into his scalp. 

Sherlock looked down at his feet, slightly humbled. "Sorry Molly." His voice cracking, just a hair, while he spoke. 

"Don't be." Was her firm answer, punctuated with a gentle tug to his hair. "I should have known better. Normalcy is nice, in theory. It just doesn't work for me in practice. I should have known better than to try to make room for him in my life when I was still saving so much of it for you. It wasn't fair to him."

"Don't blame yourself, Molly. You didn't know I would be back." He said soothingly as she tipped his head back, into the spray, massaging his scalp while the soap ran out.

"Yes I did." She replied earnestly.

Turning to face her, he leaned his forehead against hers, taking in the same air.

"Maybe not cognitively, but I always knew you would be back. Call it intuition or blind faith but I couldn't let you go."

She brought her hands up to cradle his face. "I'm in deep, Sherlock. I think you should know. If this-" She brought her hands down to his chest between them. "If this is going to end, you'll have to be the one to end it. Definitively and without question. If you walk away..."

Her face was pained and her voice shook. "Please don't come back. Because I will _always_ drop everything for you. Don't make me do that. That's too cruel, even for you, Sherlock Holmes."

Molly looked up, anxiously, only to find his blue-green eyes piercing hers in indefinable expression. He stood under the spray of the shower.

Just staring, as if frozen.

His hands gripped her shoulders, trapping her in his gaze, his lips were parted as if he was about to speak but no words made their way out. 

Molly smiled tenderly and stroked his face with the back of her fingers. 

"Sherlock, you're doing that thing where you're thinking so hard you forget you're supposed to say it out loud." 

He blinked and cleared his throat. "Right... Thank you, Molly." He took another pause. "Can I just have another moment to finish this thought before I start talking?"

Molly giggled behind her hand and raised up on her toes to press a kiss to his forehead.

"Take your time." 

She turned to finish her shower, adding conditioner to her hair and touching up a few areas with her razor while he stood in the far corner of the shower, lost in thought.

After the conditioner set and she rinsed her hair the water started to go cold. She bent to turn it off. She squeezed the water out of her hair, patted herself down with her towel and wrapped it around her chest.

Humming quietly, she pulled the second towel from the bar and ruffled it over Sherlock's hair before draping it across his shoulders. She stepped out of the shower and in front of the mirror. She wound her damp hair into a high bun and started applying lotion.

"Ok, I think I have it." He announced. 

She looked over at him with her foot propped up on the closed toilet lid, smoothing fragrant lotion into the skin of her leg. 

"Change is not something I enjoy." He began. "The things and people in my life are carefully ordered to fit specific roles. I'm not eager to, or really capable of, making any alterations to those roles." 

Molly swallowed. Here it was, at long last. The moment he would tell her a real relationship was not possible.

"But somehow your role in my life has expanded, much of it's own volition, and not due to any conscious effort of my own. It just is. The same way flowers sometimes manage to grow through concrete."

Molly stood up on shaking knees as she fought back tears. 

"In the time I've known you I gained a nemesis, faked my death, went underground, came back home to John getting married and becoming a father, faking an engagement, getting shot and being exiled. I've had enough change to last the whole of my life."

He paused for breath. "But in that time, I always wanted you. It took me four years to take you on three dates. Two of which you weren't even aware were dates. One of which was while you were engaged to another man. So, Molly Hooper... Now that you are mine, please, don't ever let that change. I couldn't bear it."

Molly's lip trembled and a single tear fell down her check and she sniffed. "You bloody idiot." She grit out.

"I'm not yours _now_."

He was taken aback by her forceful words. They stung like a hard slap.

She stepped closer, bridging the space between them in a single stride, and trained her eyes on him. Yanking him down to her mouth with the tails of the towel draped around his shoulders, she crushed her lips against his in a rough kiss full of naked want.

He did not hesitate to deepen the kiss. Matching her in a rhythmic needy dance of twisting tongues and nipping lips. She gave a final searing bite to his lower lip before breaking away.

"I've **always** been yours." She whispered huskily against his lips before taking them again in another possessive kiss.

_Christ, yes! Move in with me. Marry me. Have my children..._

The kiss stopped suddenly and Molly looked at Sherlock with her mouth agape.

It dawned in Sherlock that this was one of those times he'd said something out loud when meant to only think it.

He gulped trying to will himself not to turn puce. He failed.

"Uhm..." Molly bit her lip. "Maybe let's do _one_ of those and then see how it goes." She smiled shyly.

"Ok." He beamed and lifted her over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. She squealed and laughed as he stepped over the wall of the tub.

"I pick the babies one."  

Sherlock announced as he walked toward her bedroom, slamming the door with his foot and scaring the daylights out of Toby as he rushed to the sitting room to finish his nap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I know it took a while but it's finally through. This is the last chapter of this fic, but not the last fic in this 'verse. ;)
> 
> The song Molly is humming in the bathroom is "Life on Mars" by David Bowie. She really wanted me to make sure you all knew that.


End file.
